


Sail Close to the Wind

by WhittyOne



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Pirates, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5800750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhittyOne/pseuds/WhittyOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The deal is sealed, the day is done, the soldiers none the wiser.  But nothing sinks a ship faster than unchecked insubordination.  A pirate's life for Tierney? Only if she can stand a pirate's discipline from Captain Thomas' firm, commanding hand.  Batten down, merry mates, the winds are strong tonight...</p><p>(Trigger warning for discipline by whip)</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“Papa? Papa! That noise…”_

_“Hush, child, ‘tis only thunder.” A hand in the dark, giant and gentle, soothing over waves of tousled copper as she shivered beneath her blankets. “You’re safe in your bed, here’s your… baby…” Broad fingers tucked her raggedy companion beneath her arm, “go back to sleep and never ye mind the storm outside.”_

_“But Papa,” blue eyes like saucers shining curious in the brief flash of lightning, “you said a sailor true always minds the thunder and the storm when he’s at sea.”_

_A grumble of laughter, the silky-scratch caress of mustache and beard against one plump cheek. “You’re neither a sailor nor at sea, wee one. Now close them eyes and get back to sleep.”_

_“Papa?”_

_“What is it, Tierney?”_

_“I can be a sailor someday, can’t I? On your big boat –“_

_“’Tis called a ship, love.”_

_“- on your big ship with Matthews and Merrick? I can spin the wheel and roast the wizard and sit in the crow’s nest to watch the sun set?”_

_“Ah, my Tierney,” a masculine sigh of love and pride, “if God be good, ye can be anything that stubborn little heart of yours desires.” Strong, steady fingers snugged the soft wool blanket around little shoulders. “Now sleep, wee one. Dream your papa a fair wind and a calm sea and I’ll sail us both to a mermaid’s cove, toss ye over the side and let ‘em teach ye how to swim.”_

_A hiccupping giggle underscored by another dull and rumbling roar, close enough to rattle the window in its frame. “Papa!”_

_“Sleep, Tierney…”_

_Tierney…_

“Tierney? Tierney! Miss Tierney…”

She sat bolt upright, the bed much bigger, the echoing booms much louder, punctuated by harsh and hissing splashes. _That’s not thunder…!_ “Matthews?” She threw the linens aside and leapt from the mattress, her bare feet slapping the smooth wood floor as she dashed across it, forcing the hem of her tunic as far down her thighs as it would go. “Matthews! What in Satan’s seventh hell…?”

No sooner had she twisted the small brass knob of her cabin door when it popped ajar, and the grey scraggled head of the ship’s quarter master appeared in the gap. “Thank the saints you’re all right, little lady!”

“I don’t feel all right, Matthews,” she snapped brusquely. “I feel like I’ve just been yanked from a dead sleep by the sound of bloody fucking cannon fire!” She craned her neck into the space over the older man’s shoulder, scowling when his worn and weathered hand pushed her firmly back. “What is going on up there?”

Keoghan Matthews gave the young woman another gentle shove, backing her into the chamber and closing the door firmly behind him. “It’s pirates, Miss.”

Tierney paled beneath her flaming tousle of hair, swallowed audibly, but gave no other sign of fear or panic. “Pirates? You’re certain?”

Matthews gave a curt nod. “Must be, Miss. They ain’t flyin’ the Roger, but they ain’t flyin’ colors at all. No respecting captain’d pilot his vessel without them… can only be rogues up to no good.”

“Weeping Christ,” Tierney spat through clenched teeth. “My father sailed this ruddy old bitch some twenty years, never lost so much as a dash of flour or a grain of rice.” Her fingers tightened around the faded stripes of her mate’s cotton shirt. “I’ll be damned if the Eagle’s going to start bleeding cargo now…”

Matthews took her shoulders firmly in his hands, continued to walk her backward until her knees met the edge of her pallet, then pushed her to sit upon it. “We’ll repel ‘em, Tierney, we will. These men were loyal and true to Red and they’re loyal and true to his daughter that kept ‘em afloat long after his body found final peace at the bottom of the sea.” He lay a calloused palm gently against her cheek. “Now you bolt that door when I leave…”

Tierney was already shaking her head. “I am not staying down here…”

“You bolt it tight…”

“No, sir, please and thank you…”

“You get yourself dressed,” Matthews pressed on, lowering the timber of his voice as Tierney raised the pitch of her own.

“I’ll not sit here idle, some game bird in a wooden cage…”

“You keep yourself quiet…”

“… while my men, _my father’s men_ , bleed and die on the decks above…”

“TIERNEY!” Matthews gave her a violent shake, wincing a bit when she yelped at the sting of her teeth snapping shut on her tongue. “You WILL stay down here, you WILL bolt that door, and you will open it to NO ONE, do I make myself clear?” He shook her again, only slightly encouraged by the shocked silence dripping from her now blood-stained lips and the wide, glassy set of her ocean blue eyes. “I took my charge from your papa they day he let you come runnin’ up that gangplank, spry as a Billy goat and twice as stubborn. ‘Gonna have to save her from herself time and time again, Key,’ he said, ‘you up for the challenge?’ And every day since I been chasin’ your bratty little backside up the rigging and down! I kept you alive and in one piece this long, I ain’t about to shirk my duty now.” He released his hold on her, bent to scoop her abandoned trousers and boots and waistcoat from where they lay discarded on the floor. “You mind me now, little lady,” he admonished, thrusting the pile of clothing into her arms. “You bolt that door, you get yourself covered, and you keep yourself fair out of sight.” His hand returned to her neck, his grip gentle but firm. “There’s more precious things on this ship than the wool and the wheat in the hold. You hear me, girl?”

Tierney nodded, her gaze never breaking from the quarter master’s dark brown stare. “Don’t you worry about me, Key,” she muttered, her voice soft but stern as she fingered the scabbard that hung from her broad leather belt. “Any brute who fancies that manner of scuffle will be leaving a precious souvenir of his own behind.”

Matthews cocked his head, giving her a side-eyed glare full of warning. “Tierney…”

His words were drowned out by a thunderous crash that reverberated through the cabin, flurries of dust and fine splinters raining from the seams of the ceiling over their heads. The pair were just shielding their eyes from the downpour when a burst of frenzied shouting filled the air, and they froze briefly. “They’re coming aboard,” Matthews hissed in a whisper, dragging his charge across the room to the door. “Bolt it, girl, tight,” he demanded, opening it just enough to sidle through and into the hallway. He yanked it shut once more before pressing his mouth to the wood. “Now!”

“Keoghan,” she barked, her voice thin, threadbare, “be careful.” Her fingers trembled for a moment at the neck of the key before her other hand threw the latch; it was only after the lock clicked into place with a throaty _chunk_ that she heard the quarter master’s thudding footfalls echo away towards the stairs at the hatch down the corridor. “Fuck me,” she gritted angrily, dropping her clothes to the floor before yanking them on a garment at a time. She shoved the hem of her shirt deep into her breeches, cursing at her trembling fingers as they stumbled over the button fly. The heavy weave of her waistcoat provided a bit of comfort against the chill that had spread over her skin and was now taking root in her bones; she kicked her stockings aside with an impatient grunt and began to tug the leather of her boots up over the bare flesh of her legs.

She’d just finished buckling the brass of her belt at her waist when she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the basin, and she narrowed her eyes venomously at her reflection. Her irises were glazed with anxiety and impotence and there were harsh, dark circles set into the hollows underneath. All the rest shone pale as fresh cream, including her normally plump and rosy lips now pressed into a murderously thin line. Lifting her hand, she cracked her palm across each side of her face, once, twice, until she was satisfied by the blooms returning to her cheeks. Her torch-hued tresses spilled unkempt down her back, she whipped them impatiently into a haphazard knot that she shoved unceremoniously under the black wool of a tricorn hat.

The sounds of the scuffle unfolding above were drawing closer – shuffling steps over the worn wood of the deck, the bright clinks and clangs of metal striking metal, the meaty thumps and thuds of men brawling fisticuffs. A hearty _whump_ that could only have been the sound of a body laid out on the planks overhead made her start in her spot, and she only fingered the cool steel grip of the blade at her hip a moment before her mind was made up.

“Fuck all of you…”

The air was thick and rancid when she poked through the hatch to survey the scene, the scent of the heavy oil burning in the lanterns mingling with the acrid stench of angry sweat and the pungent bite of spent gunpowder. All around her men were locked in combat, the familiar faces of her past grimacing and growling at the interlopers who’d slithered aboard. She chewed on her bottom lip as her gaze moved from tussle to tussle, pondering impatiently where to hurl herself into the fray. Merrick was easily holding his own against the burly-chested beast bearing down on him, but Merrick had always been a master of swinging steel. Cuthbert and Crauston were tussling hand to hand with a band of four ( _terrible odds, lads_ , she thought to herself with a smirk, _you need at least three more if you mean to take down the Twin Towers of Terror from Tandragee_ ). Matthews was fair close to upending his opponent over the starboard side stern, and once she’d convinced herself he’d ultimately succeed, she whipped her head around in search of Kruger.

At five and a half feet, the fair-haired German never appeared to pack half the wallop his shipmates could surely bring to a melee. Small fisted and slender, the perfect butt of a great many jokes, nearly all of which he bore with a small, indulgent smile and a shrug of his narrow shoulders. But when he traded smile for sword, he left no question as to why Seamus “Red” McCrae hadn’t pushed out of port without the man at his six in a dozen years. And when Tierney’s eyes lit on him at last, she was pleased to see him putting his particular skill set on exquisite display.

It only took a moment for her to realize that at least one soul on the invading crew had more brains then brawn – the boisterous blonde locking steel with her German was easily the best swordsman of the ragtag rabble. Even from yards away, Tierney could see the spark in their eyes, the grudging respect in the curl of their lips as they jeered at one another, meeting parry for parry, thrust for thrust. She lost herself in the dance for a slow, surreal moment – the sure and steady jig of their feet, the sparks of the lanterns reflected in the shining metal as blade met blade again, and again. Finally, she giggled silently to herself as Kruger’s brow quirked, his sword hand twisting almost unnaturally at the wrist as he ducked and spun, throwing his weight at his opponent and pinning him to the foremast, the edge of his weapon pressed against the man’s throat. Tierney held her breath, watched Kruger’s mouth form words of thanks for his ill-fated foe, felt her fingernails bite into her palms as she waited for the spray of red to soak her crewman’s shirt.

The pirate held up both hands, let his own blade fall to the floor. But as the clatter echoed in the wind-whipped air, he drew back his arm and drove his ham-sized fist directly into the center of Krueger’s well-sculpted jaw. Tierney’s breath stuck hot and harsh in her throat as the German’s eyes slid shut, as he crumpled into the villain’s grasp. The man slung his body easily over one shoulder, and as she watched, he carried her mate to the deck in front of the bowsprit, dropping him callously to lie amongst a tangle of arms and legs.

_Stacking them up… like cordwood… filthy fucking savages!_

Biting back a scream of indignant rage, Tierney launched herself from the safety of the hold, drawing her sword from its sheath and charging the man with murder in her eyes.

“Ho!”

The blonde barked in surprise, his blade aloft to catch the biting blow of hers that would have easily split his skull. “You merry merchants do ‘ave a fair share of piss in you, doncha now?” Tierney scraped her steel the length of his before lunging again. “As I tried to tell your matey there, I’ve a message for you from the _Bronwyn’s_ captain,” he side-stepped the attack with a fair bit of footwork. “We’ve no interest in your boat or your blood. It’s only your cargo we’re after, boy, all of this hostility is really very unnecessary.”

Tierney snarled as she thrust again, forcing him to take a breath and defend. “Only our cargo, eh?” she sneered. “Well, you great bleating git, our cargo _is_ our boat, our blood. So your _captain_ ,” she spat the word as if the very taste of it was toxin on her tongue, “made a liar out of you.” She flicked her blade with graceful skill, met her attacker’s effort with infuriated ease. “So why don’t you crawl back to your _captain_ , hand over your steel, and tell him to stick it up his vile, villainous arsehole?”

Thrust, parry, flick and thrust. “Oh, you are a spirited little fucker, aren’t you?” His chuckle was rich and ripe as he danced about her fury, as blow after blow rang clear through the humid salt-soaked air. “And a fair hand with a cutlass, we could use a lad like you.”

Tierney dropped her arms at once, staring at him with carefully constructed incredulity. “Wh -… are you bloody daft? Did you really just blast your way onto my ship, hoping to slide our bounty out from under us with a few pretty promises and cock-headed compliments?”

“Ah, my friend,” the wind picked up, tossed the summer-wheat strands of his hair about his face, “you underestimate the power of words.”

“Oh, do I now?” With a smarmy smirk, Tierney flipped her arm a violent lash, the tip of her blade glancing long and true along the line of her opponent’s chiseled cheekbone.

He jerked back a step, staring at her in shocked surprise. Slowly, his hand rose to his face, fingertips tracing the break and coming away stained scarlet. “Oh, foolish little fucker,” he crooned low, deadly. “You’ve ruined my pretty…”

“Really?” She cocked a cruel brow. “I never would have known.”

Cutlass met cutlass again, and once more as the pair pirouetted around one another in a treacherous tango. Attack and disengage, remise and riposte, fueled by rage, tempered by skill. Soon, both of them were breathing heavy, sweat stinging their eyes as they circled and stabbed in attempt to break the standoff. Finally, after one critically close tussle, the invader staggered back, palm pressed to a stich in his side, blade held above his bent head in a show of weary resistance.

“Tenacious,” he rasped.

“Weak,” Tierney spat. “Stupid. Undisciplined and oafish, little brawn, smaller brain.” She rounded him with a predatory scowl. “I’m shorter than you, I’m lighter, my steel is better weighted. I can move faster and strike cleaner.” She leaned closer as his shortness of breath forced him down to his knees. “What, besides swing that hunk of ill-crafted ego like a troll chopping wood, can you do?”

Dancing green eyes peered suddenly up at her from behind a tangle of sweat-soaked hair, and an icy chill of dread ran up her spine a heartbeat too late.

“I can cheat.”

The pirate’s hand shot out, lightning quick, catching her by the ankle. Tierney’s cry of enraged dismay choked into silence as her back hitting the deck forced the air from her lungs in a hot, heavy rush. Her sword clattered flatly at her side, her hands scrabbled weakly at her attacker’s chest as he fisted her waistcoat.

“Calm down, lad, calm down. I can chuck you in the brig and you can kick and holler to your heart’s content. Or I can lay you out flat like I did your fair friend over there and add you to the pile, it’s all the same to me…” It was at that moment when, hauling her to sit upright, the man finally glanced down, his gaze following the vee of her blouse that offered a glimpse of the soft, secret curves held within. His eyes went wide, his mouth worked soundlessly, groping for words. “Fucking Christ…” he released her as if his hands had been burned, holding them high on either side of his head, “you ain’t no lad…”

Her fingers found purchase at his hip, her arm moved on instinct, and his breath was a harsh blast against her cheek, leaving him in a heavy chuff to make room for the dagger she buried to the hilt in his lung. His expression crumpled, his hands were easy to swat away as he melted to the boards beneath him with a watery, gurgling cough, the only light left in his eyes the refection of the few diamond-drop stars that winked in the sky overhead.

She had just staggered back to her feet, her fingers tightly gripping the handle of her sword, her breath still coming in shallow, hungry huffs when the sensation of someone’s stare prickled the back of her neck. She turned slowly, lifting her chin.

His hair was a corona of copper fire the same shade as hers, long curling locks that caressed their way down the angles of his neck. Eyes of blazing blue set beneath a proud English brow, sharply defined jaw dusted with a gingery scruff. His thin lips were pursed in anger and disgust, his broad chest and lanky frame seemed to vibrate inside his clothes. “You,” he seethed smoothly. She took a step back as he prowled forward, his head tilting to hood his stare. “You cowardly little cunt.”

Tierney scoffed, brandishing her blade in warning. “His rogue trick backfires, costs him his life, and _I’m_ the coward?”

The man advancing on her lifted his own cutlass to point at the body fallen at her feet. “That man had his hands in the air,” he intoned darkly. “No danger, no threat, and you cut him down nonetheless.”

“No danger?” Tierney blanched, reclaiming the ground she’d surrendered with a stomp of her foot. “No threat?” She pointed her weapon at the dead man as well. “ _That man_ charged his way onto this ship unwanted, uninvited, meaning to rob us blind, and you want me to apologize for running him through?”

“Sod your apology,” the newcomer growled. “You owe me a fuck of a lot more than that.”

Her blade nearly tumbled from fingers numb with shock. “ ** _I_** _? Owe **YOU**?”_

“Hennessey was my quarter master,” the pirate sniffed soundly. “Knew my ship like the back of his hand, knew her crew. Knew every wave of the North Atlantic, every inlet, every port. He pulled the weight of three with ease. In short, lad,” he quirked his head, clicking his tongue in condescension, “you just cost me my very best man. You owe me a debt.”

Tierney glowered at his calm command, jerked her own head towards the heap of sailors piled like fishing haul at the bow of the ship. “Your one to my half-dozen,” she snarled. “I’ll be gracious and call it even.”

The pirate leveled his blade at the bodies in question. “Those men will wake in an hour or two. Nurse a few bumps, a few bruises, eat a little less, drink a little more. But they’ll be fit as fiddles come sunrise, and back in position to sail this bitch back to London.” He furrowed his brow at her once more. “Your loss is temporary, mine will endure. You owe me a debt.”

“Well then,” Tierney took a step closer, raising her cutlass and bringing the blade to rest on his shoulder, “how about this? I’ll let you take your men that still breathe and leave with your life.” She offered him a vicious little smirk. “What say you… _Captain?_ ”

The man eyed the steel that just nudged his throat. “Cocky little shite, you are.” An elegant duck and spin later and he and Tierney stood, on guard and face to face. “Let’s have us a go, then.”

Tierney held her ground, willing her hammering heart to slow and steady. _You bested his best, girl, but he’s angry, entitled. That’s a dangerous mix, and you’re far from invincible. Let him lead, learn his rhythm…_

The cacophony of the conflicts still brewing about them fell away until all she could hear was the rasp of air in and out of her burning lungs, the measured pounding of her pulse, and the hissing strike of steel on steel. The captain kept her on her toes, sparring with a subtle, almost serpentine grace; before long, his every successful dodge stung with sharper and sharper insult made worse by the twinkling spark in his eyes and the roguish quirk of his grin. Her own defense was leaving her more and more breathless, and worse, she could feel her father’s Irish anger boiling hotter and hotter in her belly, making it more and more difficult to fight with a cool head. Gritting her teeth, she lunged forward with a low and heavy thrust.

It should have worked. The length of her blade tangled with his at the base, wrenching the weapon and his wrist in turn. His grip slackened at the handle, and Tierney’s heart leapt at the promise of victory. But the pirate was smiling when he let his steel drop to the deck, his empty hand swooping like a bird of prey to grab hers. He gave a twist and a savage yank, and her cutlass joined his on the weathered planks at their feet. He hauled her up against him, catching the fingers that scrabbled for his dagger with ease and pinning her arm behind her back, clicking his tongue at her as he would an errant child.

“Foolish lad… did you really think that would work a second time?” She bared her teeth at him, struggling in his crushing bearhug as he rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Calm yourself down before I draw it and bleed the piss and wind from you myself…”

Tierney didn’t hesitate, threw her head back to put the delicate skin of her throat on display, a rakish show of arrogant bravery. “I _dare_ you,” she spat.

The captain’s eyes flickered in amused annoyance, but before either of them could breathe a word more, the tricorn hat perched atop Tierney’s head shifted, then slid to the ground, allowing the untidy tangle of fiery red waves beneath to tumble down her back. The pirate’s jaw sagged for a fleeting second, and she very nearly managed to slip his grip before he tightened it once more, his expression feline in its surprised delight. “Well, well, well,” he murmured in soft consideration, “what have we here?”

Tierney swallowed with a gulp as she watched the incredulity fade from his features, replaced by an intense and interested scrutiny. Suddenly unable to meet his eye, she dropped her gaze, scowling at the gingery hair that dressed his mouth, the strong even teeth that peeked from his grin. He passed his tongue briefly over his lips, and her stomach gave a quick and queer hitch. It set her cheeks aflame, and she realized with bilious fury that the man could strip her to her skin where she stood and she still wouldn’t feel as exposed as she did in that very moment. “Let go of me,” she seethed, her captive hands clenching into fists.

“Oh, no,” the captain cocked a devilish brow. “Lad may have turned to lass before my very eyes but the debt still stands.” He leaned a bit closer, let her feel the heat of his words ghost over the shell of her ear. “You owe me, girl, and I will have satisfaction.”

Tierney’s eyes slid closed for the briefest of heartbeats, a thousand sweat-stained images exploding behind her lids with the same battering brutality of the cannon fire that had jerked her from her dream and thrust her headlong into this new nightmare. She set her jaw in an iron line as her captor leaned back, lifted her chin.

“Your choices are these,” she murmured, deadly quiet, “you can let me go now, and haul your sloppy, stinking rabble back aboard the rat-infested treerot that ferried you here, and my men and I might give you a head start before our guns blast your sails from your masts so you can row yourselves back to shore.”

The pirate chuckled richly, shaking his head. “Never did care for sculling, my dear,” he quipped easily. “What else you got?”

Tierney’s lips curled in a cruel smirk. “You can cut me down here where we stand, and feel the wrath of my crew when they set upon you after, tear you limb from limb and toss you over the side to feed the eels.”

“Now that doesn’t sound appealing either,” his blue eyes sparkled with a merry light.

“I’ve absolutely no interest in appealing to you for anything, you base, brutish bastard.” Tierney tossed aside the hair that had fallen over her eyes, tilted her head back to display her throat once more. “Cut me down or turn me loose,” she growled, “you’ll get no other satisfaction from me.”

“Ah, pretty girl,” she blanched in horror as his arm left her waist, and one large hand caressed briefly over her cheek before fisting the front of her shirt. “That? Is where you are wrong…”

She opened her mouth to retort, but the crash of his high, strong forehead into hers closed it with a snap. Her vision greyed, the world tipped wildly beneath her feet, and sudden sweeping silence drew her down into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

_Christ in Heaven… my fucking head…_

Tierney rolled heavily from her back to her side, curling around the pillow beneath her with a groan. The ache between her ears was a dull and watery throb that slished and sloshed as she moved; the responding hitch in her gut stilled her in a hurry. Pressing her hand to her mouth, she swallowed the bile that churned up into her throat, breathing slow and deep.

_How fucking much did I drink last night?_

She cast her mind back to mess the evening prior, her brow furrowing above her closed eyes as she struggled to remember. The stew had been hot and hearty, even if the beef was a bit bland and the bread a bit tough. Matthews had poured her a second tot of rum as they checked their position against the charts on the quarter deck, but she was fair certain she’d dumped more than half into Curtis’ cup before retiring to her cabin, stealing the last olive from his plate in trade. She’d left the brandy untouched by the basin as she undressed for bed, and sleep had come with ease.

So why…?

She lifted her hand to brush her hair from her face, and the hot poker of pain that buried itself between her eyes melted away the curtain of confusion wrapped around her brain. Her ears began to ring with recollected cannon fire, the echoes of steel on steel. The muscles of her right arm began to thrum and twitch at the memory of swinging her sword, and she inhaled the remembered scents of salt and sweat, the oyster and copper aroma of her adversary’s blood as she gave him a final taste of his own blade.

And then, behind her lids, _he_ rose like a specter, ginger hair ablaze in the light of the lanterns, blue eyes burning into hers above his self-assured smirk.

_You owe me a debt… I will have satisfaction…_

Tierney’s eyes popped open and she sat up, her harsh gasp of realization giving way to a mewling moan as a white hot burst of agony exploded inside her head. “Fucking _bastard_ ,” she snarled, pressing her palm to her forehead as her gaze whipped to the left, to the right.

The cabin was disturbingly handsome, dark glossy woods and high polished brass accents shining in the golden sunlight that spilled through the perimeter windows. One open door offered a glimpse of desktop littered with charts and sextant, another revealed a curious body-sized basin set securely into the floor. The wall to her left was lined with shelves, each heavy with leather bound books of all sizes, and the modest table beyond was dressed with a crystal decanter and two empty tumblers. The air was silent and still, heavy with the perfume of the sea that splashed outside and something else; something enticing and elusive, a muted musk that seemed to tickle its way over her skin as much as it niggled its way into her nostrils. It was then that she finally bothered to glance down and saw the soft mattress that supported her weight, the warm woolen linens pooled at her waist.

_No… not his bed! Not that, oh, dear Christ have mercy… please…_

Setting her teeth in a grinding line, she curled her fingers in the blankets and threw them angrily aside. The breath she had been holding caged within her chest escaped her in a wild giggle of weary relief when she saw her breeches still buttoned securely over her hips, her shirt still tucked snugly in her waistband. Her eyes darted around the room once more; she swung her legs over the edge of the bed at the sight of her boots and waistcoat piled neatly in the corner. “Oh, fuck me,” she groaned weakly, grabbing at the post as she swayed drunkenly on her feet, fighting the urge to spill what little was left in her stomach onto the chamber floor. Her fingernails clawed small grooves into the soft sculpted wood as the wave subsided, and once the world was steady once more, she darted across the room.

“Please, please, please,” she muttered as she rifled through the pile, whipping her belt free from the folds of heavy fabric. “Dammit,” she spat as the empty scabbard flapped uselessly in the air. “ _Dammit!”_

“Oh, come now, lovely lass, did you really believe I’d leave you here alone and armed?”

Tierney bounced to her feet, a short but shrill yip of surprise bursting from her lips before she could stop it, and whirled to face the man standing in the door. Long and lanky, he leaned easily against the jamb, watching her with a rakish grin. His copper curls were pushed back from his forehead and his eyes were twinkling with quiet mirth. The scruff that adorned his lips and chin was neatly groomed and the laces of his collar hung untied at his throat, allowing ruddy, masculine skin and a tiny patch of downy hair to peek out from the heavy, wine-hued linen. He held a simple wooden tray loosely in his grasp, and Tierney’s stomach gave a traitorous rumble as the savory smell from the covered plate upon it drifted to her nose.

“You slept through breakfast,” he quipped casually as he crossed to the table. “No great tragedy, really – I told Conall those eggs wouldn’t keep – but he did spare you some mango, and I don’t mind telling you, it took a fair amount of doing.” He removed the dome with a flourish. “Ham, potatoes… the bread is fresh baked.” He plucked a wedge of the fruit from the platter and popped it into his mouth, chewing with proud relish. “It’s a bit late for coffee,” he tipped her a side-eye wink, “but I figured you could use a pick-me–up a bit stronger than tea.”

Tierney glowered at him, hands fisted at her sides, edging back into the corner to lengthen the distance between them as he rounded the tabletop, setting out silverware and a linen napkin and pulling a chair with a neat little bow. “Hannibal assures me it looks worse than it is, nothing broken, but the headaches and fuzziness will linger a day, maybe two. The shadow, however,” he offered her a perfunctory shrug, “that could last upwards a week.” He shook his head as her brow furrowed in confusion, and she frowned at the flash of guilt that passed over his features as he gestured towards the opposite wall.

The mirror was mounted just next to the door; she kept her gaze glued to the captain as she crossed the room with careful trepidation. Her inhale of shock and chagrin stuck behind her collarbone at the sight of the bruise that darkened her left eye from the top of her nose to her temple and dusted down her cheek like the feathers of a crow’s wing. She traced her fingertips over the edges, tears of angry frustration slipping from the corners of her eyes in shining streaks. She hissed at the pain that blossomed beneath her touch as she swiped them away before turning back to the pirate, bearing his contemplative curiosity with a toss of her head.

“If I could have brought you to heel in a less demonstrative manner, I would have,” he spoke in a plain, even cadence. “But you were hell bent for blood and we both know it; the options left to us at that point were equally, _mutually_ unpleasant.” He paused for a breath as her stoic stare lingered on his lips. “You’d already made the entire sorry affair much worse than was warranted, there was naught to be gained by more loss of life.” The light in his eyes at last dimmed a shade at her unflinching fury, and his shoulders dropped just a hint as he sighed softly. “Still… t’was a shame to darken such a lovely landscape, and I apologize for taking measures so… drastic.”

“Sod your apology,” Tierney snapped through her scowl. “Where are my men?”

The captain’s smile returned, warming his features. “Britain bound,” he replied easily. “If I had to guess, I’d say at this moment the _Iolar na Mara’s_ about a hundred fifty leagues from the fair English coast.” He exhaled a soft chuckle at the infuriated disbelief that pinched her lips and narrowed her eyes to dagger-launching slits. “They’ll be sailing the Eagle into a little coastal town that will give her port and keep her safe from prying eyes. After that, they’re free to do as they please. I made it clear that the forward-thinking attitudes they’d encounter once docked would welcome strong hands and silent mouths should they fancy staying to seek new fortune. If not, there are boats to let that’ll row ‘em safe up the coast to weave a tale of pirate pillaging and sinking ships to satisfy the questions of your erstwhile employer.” He gestured gallantly at the empty chair.

Tierney stood rooted to her spot, deadly dark clouds gathering in her gaze. “You made… my men… my ship… _accompli_ in your crime?”

He tipped her another playful wink. “Bloody clever, don’t you think?”

“I don’t believe you,” Tierney frothed, hissing a bit as the angry shake of her head sent a constellation of painful sparks skipping through her brain. “There weren’t no villainy in those men, not a drop. There is no way they’d agree to those terms.”

“Oh, but there is,” he insisted with a grin. “She’s standing in my bedchamber, refusing to sit for lunch.” He nodded assurance as her certainty faltered. “You were right about their loyalty to you, sweet. Had I cut you down, retribution would have been swift and savage, and I would now most certainly be residing in the lower digestion of a white tip or a spiny dogfish.” His tone dropped in pitch, slowed. “Taking you alive, however?” He tilted his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “That rendered every man jack considerably more… cooperative.” He crossed the room at a measured pace, delighted by the young woman’s visible determination to hold her ground. “They know you’re here. They know you’re alive. They may very much want to change the first but I daresay they’d all sooner fall on their own steel before doing anything to jeopardize the second.” He stopped just in front of her; she could feel the lingering warmth of the outdoor sun baking from his boots into the bare skin at the tips of her toes. The depths of his blue eyes were endless, unreadable as they traced their way over each line of her face. “What say,” he lifted a hand, ghosted a thumb along the upsweep of the shiner that caressed her cheek, “you don’t dishonor their effort by doing anything foolishly reckless?”

Tierney allowed his touch to linger, offered him a smarmy little simper. A heartbeat later, her growl of effort drowned out his grunt of surprise as she drove her fist into the firm but unguarded terrain of his abdomen; she charged around him as he doubled over from the impact. She flew across the room, through the open door, the breeze of her body sending maps and charts fluttering to the floor. Her fingers closed around the knob of the main cabin entrance, a cry of dismay spilled from her lips as it refused to turn in her hand.

“No, no, no, no, _nonono_!” She yanked fruitlessly at the tarnished brass again and again before spinning sharply, throwing her back into the sturdy wood as her captor crossed to stand in the archway. His hand was still pressed to the muscle above his navel, but his eyes continued to dance with an impish light, and his smile was no less genuine than it had been when he’d first flashed it at her. “Open this door!” she shrieked, stomping her foot and pounding both fists back against the solid plank.

The captain’s fingers dipped into a small pocket in his trousers, plucked free a small, shining key. “Open it yourself,” he chortled, tossing it carelessly her direction.

Tierney caught it with a lunge and turned to the lock, cursing as the metal chittered against the keyhole in her shaking hand. At last it slid into place, but just before giving the bow a twist, she froze, listening as a wave of raucous, roguish laughter erupted from the decks above, men drunk on sweat and success and the sun-warmed sea air. _Three voices? Four?_ She glanced over her shoulder at her captor’s self-satisfied smirk.

“Eight up there,” he confirmed with a sniff. “One down here. Cast your die, sweet, I’ve little time to waste waiting for you to make your choice.”

Tierney yanked the key from the lock and hurled it back at him with a snarl. Lifting her chin and tossing her hair, she stomped back into the bed chamber, pushing the captain rudely aside before making her way to the window bench set into the starboard side of the ship. She threw herself onto the bare wooden seat, pulling her knees to her chest and staring morosely out at the passing water. Her pirate host observed her with amused exasperation, rolling his eyes when she once again turned up her nose at his gesture of welcome to his table.

“As you will,” he chuckled, slipping another slice of mango into his mouth before licking the juice from his thumb and forefinger, “I’ve work to do.” He paused a moment, then pressed on with an indifferent shrug when she refused to look at him. “You may take your rest here ‘til the shadow and the swelling take their leave; can’t really set you to duty wearing such a striking brand of defeat anyway,” he snickered as she bristled, refocused her gaze on the white tips of the waves outside.

“’Set me to duty,’” she jeered, “just who the bloody hell do you think you are?”

Had she been looking, Tierney would have seen the pirate’s shoulders square with pride, caught a glimpse of dimple as he quirked his chin a notch.

“Thomas William Hiddleston, lovely,” he replied with aplomb. “Patriot of Cambridge proper and Captain of the _Bountiful Bronwyn_.” His body dipped in an elegant bow that would have been perfectly in place at royal court. “Welcome aboard.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode easily from the room. The heavy oak door closed with an audible click, followed by the metallic _chunk_ of the bolt in the lock sliding into place.

“Welcome aboard,” Tierney repeated with a scoff. “ _Welcome aboard._ Arrogant arsehole,” she sneered to herself, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat and hugging her thighs to her chest.

_You have to figure a way off this ship._

The words throbbed between her ears in time with her pounding pulse, and she winced at the fingers of pain that spread along the curves of her skull, clawed their way through the muscles of her neck.

_You have to figure a way out of here, girl, and before he has his way with you. Before he tosses you to his men like leftover mutton, settles his…_ debt… _by letting them pick over what’s left._

The ship tilted momentarily against the current, and again Tierney found herself swallowing a mouthful of burning anxiety, blinking against the colors that swam and blurred before her eyes.

_I can’t take two fucking steps out the door like this. Bad enough he hauled from my own ship like a sack of potatoes or side of beef – I’ll not give him the satisfaction of finding me here, passed out in a puddle of my own vomit._

Leaning back against the wall, she dropped her head, lay her cheek on her knees, and closed her eyes.

_Rest. Just a little more rest…_

The sun that warmed her as she huddled on the windowsill was drifting lazily at the horizon when the sound of the door creaking open on its hinges jerked her from her thin, fitful doze. Her arms flailed briefly for purchase as her body tipped towards the edge; she’d barely righted herself when the captain strolled into the room. She snapped her head around to stare out the window so brusquely she felt the creak in her neck, the tail of her hair whipping from one side of her waist to the other. The tray he carried with him was larger this time – two covered platters, two large iron mugs, a long-necked bottle filled to the rim, a well-worn basket piled with mismatched slices of bread. She watched his reflection in the glass as he paused at the table’s edge, smirking silently to herself when he quirked a brow at the food he’d left her earlier in the day, moldering untouched on the plate.

“Not one for the ham, eh?” He set his fresh load down before picking up the refuse and carrying it to out to the anteroom, leaving it on the desk. Tierney shivered a bit when he returned to the bedchamber, closing the door with a quiet click, but continued to ignore him as he moved about setting the table fresh. “Perhaps the chicken will suit you better,” he lifted each serving to its own place before uncovering them and inhaling deeply through his nose. The savory scent wafted lazily on the air, and Tierney pressed a hand firmly against the grumbling that erupted from her midsection, setting her teeth in a determined line.

“Oh, come now, stubborn girl,” Thomas chided with a good-natured grin, “you must be starving.” He nudged the cuts of roasted bird this way and that to make room on each place for a slice of bread, popped a wedge of soft potato into his mouth as he uncorked the bottle. “At least have a kiss of this fair Spanish lady,” he urged over the gurgling chuckle of the light rum as he filled each cup. “The chill outside is settling fast; she’ll warm you, fair and true.”

_She’ll render me stupid and stumbling, you mean, and much more amenable to going arse over teakettle into that bed of yours._ Tierney bit the insides of her cheeks to prevent the words from tumbling down from her brain and spilling from her lips. _Seamus McCrae didn’t raise no weak-willed fool, Thomas Hiddleston – I know what you’re after; I’ll be damned if I let you take it without a fight._ Breathing deep through her nose, she held the air inside her a long moment before exhaling slowly, her eyes never once leaving the shrinking slice of rose-orange light that followed the sun’s dip below the ocean’s edge.

Behind her, the captain hitched an indifferent shrug. “Suit yourself.” He sank into his chair with a hearty sigh, offering her the view of his back as he tucked into his meal. Tierney closed her eyes, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of bitter saliva as she listened to the succulent sounds of him tearing tender, juicy meat from bone, scraping butter over bread, chewing politely and swigging from his mug with relish. A stretch of torturous moments passed before he turned, her waiting plate balanced on his outstretched palm. “Conall’s shit for presentation but it’s all damn tasty… you sure?”

Tierney tucked her chin to her chest before turning her head to glare at him over her shoulder. His expression was open, free of expectation; it only made her grit her teeth all the harder as she fumed silent refusals his direction. His mouth bowed in a moue of disappointment as he shifted back to the table, and yet he still scraped her rations onto his own plate to pick from them as he pleased while she continued to stew on the sill behind him.

Once fed to his fill, the captain rose from his chair, planting his hands at the base of his spine and arching in a feline stretch, not even sparing her a glance as he left the table and the ransacked dinner plates. She watched him go as he strode with purpose to his study, listened to the rustle of paper and the scratch of lead as he plotted his ship’s progress and checked her course for the following day. And then he was back, this time turning the small brass key in the lock when he closed the door behind him. Tierney’s head lifted as he passed to the bed, every inch of her skin suddenly alive with an agonizing itch as he kicked off his boots. One long arm reached back over his shoulder, one strong hand fisted the linen of his shirt. It slipped from the waist of his trousers with ease, and with one swift tug over his head, he was bare-chested before her.

If he felt her eyes upon him, he gave no sign, simply continued to move through his end-of-day ritual with absent grace; Tierney held herself stock still as her gaze moved over the landscape on display. His skin was smooth, glowing with sun-kissed freckles, stretched over ligament and sinew that flowed underneath like the currents of the sea surrounding them. His muscles were broad, well-toned, arms and hands and fingers both elegant and efficient. She felt her teeth sink unbidden into her lower lip as she watched him fold his shirt into a neat, narrow strip, her eyes flicking from one dark nipple to its twin as he leaned to hang the garment over the footboard of the bed. The fingers of his left hand played briefly through the soft beard that covered his chin as the fingers of his right curled around the folds of rumpled linens, giving them a brief flap until they settled more evenly against the mattress. Her stare moved from his dark ginger whiskers to the lighter patch of sparse curls that dusted his chest, then lower, to the trail that feathered below the wink of his navel, down the taut plane of his abdomen. Those muscles gave a subtle hitch, and her cheeks flamed with rushing blood as she realized that, now, he was indeed watching her watching him.

His grin was not unkind and his chuckle was gentle mirth as she tossed her head in angry chagrin. “Come on, little redwing,” he admonished warmly. “If you’ll not eat, you should at least sleep.”

Tierney exhaled a bitter little laugh. “I am absolutely fine right where I am, please and thank you.” She scuttled herself more snugly into the corner between window and wall, wrapped her arms around her knees ever tighter.

Thomas rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Christ, you are a stubborn little sod.” He cut his gaze briefly to the blue evening rolling in against the side of the ship, listened to the spray hissing beneath the lash of the strengthening wind. “The sun’s light’s left you, girl, and that pretty little perch is going to be fucking freezing in an hour or two.” He gave his head a nod to the spot she’d awoken in earlier that afternoon. “Come tuck yourself in, no point in begging more misery.”

“I am perfectly comfortable right here,” she replied, lifting her nose with a snooty air.

“Oh, fucking hell,” the pirate snarled in frustrated resignation, yanking the heavy wool coverlet from the bed and crossing the floor in stomping sides. “Take the blanket then, you blasted little brat…”

“I SAID I’M FINE!”

Her shrill bark froze them both in their places, his eyes wide with surprise, hers narrowed in trepidation that she prayed read as fury. She held her breath as she waited, visions of his vengeful wrath running roughshod through her mind. She imagined the comforter falling to the floor as he fisted her hair, forcing her to her knees before dragging her over to the bed. Would he attempt to subdue her with blow after strategically placed blow, or would he simply hurl her to the mattress and crush her beneath his weight? Would he tear her clothes to shreds and leave her in naught but her skin, or would he simply rend aside the fabric that stood between him and the pieces of her he lusted for most? Would she be strong enough, quick enough, to blacken his eyes, rake bloody furrows into his cheeks?

Would she still be aware when he invaded her at last, or would blissful oblivion spare her the hurt and humiliation?

Her heart hammered in her chest, counting off second after tension-soaked second. Finally, with a sigh and a shake of his head, Thomas turned on his heel. He spread the blanket over the bed once more, making certain it stretched to all four corners before reaching for the lamp mounted on the wall. Tierney watched, her jaw slack with shock, as the light winked out, sending a silvery strip of pungent smoke dancing up the walls of the glass chimney. Her host sank down on the edge of the mattress, ruffling his fingers through his curls as he plucked his watch from his pocket, then gave the knob a few brisk turns before setting it carefully aside on the night table. His hands never touched the buttons on his breeches; they simply pushed back the sheets as he lifted his long legs into the bed, fluffed the pillow before laying his head upon it. Tierney continued to stare at his settling form with suspicious anticipation until, after an eternity of moments, the silence in the cabin was broken by one muted, melodic snore.

_You right bloody bastard…_

Tierney burrowed into her corner with a pitiful sniff of injured indignation, the unexpected reprieve leaving her off balance and more dismayed by it than she cared to admit. She turned her gaze again to the rhythmic rolling waters outside the window, watching the white crests foam and fade in constant and comforting waves. The quarter moon above played hide and seek amid the dark, downy clouds as the North Atlantic chill began to bleed through the boards at her back; her teeth were chattering a merry jig when those same clouds fled to let the silver orb lounge lazily in the diamond-studded blanket of the sky. She fisted and unfisted her stiff and stuttering fingers against her shins, wiggled the numb little nubs of her toes. And when the biting ache set its teeth in the muscles at the back of her neck and refused to let go, she buried her face in her hands with a weary little sob.

_This is absurd,_ she swiped angrily at the tear that trailed an icy path down her cheek. _He left you untouched last night. He left you untouched tonight. Facts are facts, girl, and while you could have put up one fuck of a fight, he’d have won in the end and had every hole of you if his heart so desired. But where is he now, and what’s he about? He’s lying in front of you, dreaming and drooling like a babe at Mummy’s breast. And here you are, withering in the cold and the dark._

Another salty stream slipped from the corner of her eye; the shiner he’d given her sang soft aria as she cuffed it away.

_If I get in that bed, he can be on me in a heartbeat. A heartbeat. And I’ll have no chance, no chance at all…_

She shifted against the boards of the bench, felt the groan of each joint that protested in reply.

_He can be on you in a heartbeat here, girl. And you’ll have no chance then, either._

Groaning quietly over the objections of her anatomy, Tierney slowly pushed herself to standing, taking a moment to bend and stretch and flex before toeing her way carefully across the floor.

The bread was cold, soaked in the juices left by the plundered poultry, the blackberries had softened in the evening air. Salty, sweet, and delicious, she scarfed them quickly, one wary eye glued to Thomas’ sleeping shape beneath the blankets. The rum was smooth, almost syrupy, and she had to force herself to stop after a single generous sip. Finally, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she pushed herself towards the empty side of the bed.

His breathing was as hypnotic and soothing as the sea itself - long, deep whispers as persuasive as a siren’s song, coaxing her closer, beckoning her to bury herself in the warm linen depths spread before her. Her fingers were trembling when she reached for the corner of the woven wool, and she held her air inside her gut as she slid, as smoothly and silently as she could, into the space beside him.

His body never moved a twitch, his steady snoring never missed a beat.

Curling herself into a tight, feral ball beneath the covers, Tierney scooted her weight as close to the edge of the pallet as she possibly could without tumbling to the floor. Tucking one hand under the pillow beneath her ear, the other into a fist beneath her chin, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the fatigue she’d been fighting all night; it was only a moment or two before the rocking of the ship and the lullaby of the wind and the waves carried her into a deep, dreamless sleep. She didn’t stir at the ringing of the watch bells, or at the coughs of thunder that accompanied the brief, belching storm that dumped drizzle on the foredeck in a light but frigid flurry. When the first fingers of the golden sunrise tickled their way across her forehead, she buried her face in the corner of the blanket and slept on.

She never felt the mattress shift at her back, never sensed the shadow cast upon her by the man who had rounded the bed after waking himself to stare down at her for a long moment of curious contemplation. And when his strong, steady hands found her beneath the sheets, nudged her into the space still warm from his body, she simply turned and sighed, yawning sweetly as his retreating fingers tenderly tucked one fiery wave of her flowing hair behind her ear.


	3. Chapter 3

She could tell from the angle of the sun cutting through the windows when she opened her eyes that it had not been above the horizon long, and Tierney smiled to herself. She lay unmoving for a moment, letting the last vestiges of sleep fade away, wanting to be sure and steady when she at last rose to slip from the bed and return unnoticed to the window seat. But as her mind cleared and her senses awakened, she realized the room was too still, too quiet for her to be anything but alone. And sure enough, when she rolled to her back from her side, she found herself in the middle of the otherwise empty bed, tucked safe and snug beneath the sheets.

“God _damn it_!” she spat angrily, slamming her fist into the mattress. _He saw me! He_ saw _me! He saw me in bed, he saw me asleep, he knows he wore me down… God damn it, God damn it, GOD DAMN IT!_

She grabbed the pillow and pressed it to her face, screaming her frustration into its downy depths until her brain buzzed and her lungs burned with the effort. She’d only just begun to catch her breath when the rattle of the key in the lock made her sit up in a hurry. She scooted herself back against the headboard of the bed, pulling her knees up against her chest and baring her teeth in a defensive scowl.

“Miss Tierney? Are you awake, little lady?”

Her jaw fell slack, tears of shocked relief springing unbidden to her eyes at the familiar sound of gravely warmth, the sight of well-known squirrely silver curls crowning the head that poked through the door. “Matthews!” She launched from the bed to close the distance between them; the grizzled gentleman had just enough time to set aside the tray he was carrying before catching her as she hurled herself into his arms. “Matthews… my God…”

“There, there now, little lady,” his heavy, calloused hands patted tenderly at her back. “Don’t you fret, now, it’s all right… _bleeding Christ!_ ” His jaw clenched in rage as he caught her neck in his hands, turning her head this way and that as he scrutinized the bruise that shaded her face. “Bloody bastard,” he snarled, probing at the bones of her cheek and brow with one gentle thumb. “What he’s done to you…”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Tierney scoffed, brushing aside his concern with a toss of her hair before groping her own way along his shoulders, down his arms. “What about you? Are you hurt? Injured?” Her head snapped to attention, as if in sudden realization. “What of the others? Curtis? Merrick? What has he done with them? Where is he keeping them? The brig? Are they in chains?” She clenched her hands into fists full of the fabric of his shirt, gave him an absent, angry shake. “He lied to me. He _lied_ to me!”

“Tierney?” Matthews’ expression was clouded with confusion.

“I know, I know,” she seethed. “Fucking rogue bastard… he’s a thief, of _course_ he’s a liar as well…”

“Tierney,” the older man touched her cheek once more, “what are you talking about, love?”

“ _He lied to me, Matthews!_ ” she hissed, tugging at his tunic. “Spun me some song and dance about giving you and the men leave to take the Eagle back to some pirate port on the English coast, ransoming my life for your silence.” She snarled incoherently deep in her throat. “Daft fucking fool… did he think I’d not find out?”

“Tierney…”

“What kind of idiot bogtrotter does he take me for?”

“ _Tierney_!” It was Matthews’ turn to give her a shake.

“What?!”

The man’s brown eyes were full of honesty. “’Tis not a lie.” He waited for his words to sink in before continuing. “His men took naught but Carraway’s cargo from the hold, left our boys bruised and beaten but breathing, every last one of them. Captain called the Eagle a free frigate, said we could sail her as we pleased and bid us all a bonny voyage.” He nodded at her narrow-eyed incredulity. “It makes little sense to me, girl, but it is the truth.”

Tierney worried her bottom lip briefly with her teeth. “Then… but… where do you imagine…?”

Matthews squeezed her shoulders with warm affection. “Merrick made it plain he’d follow the captain’s charge, take the old girl to port away from prying eyes.” He watched the murderous fury creeping into the set of her jaw, and gave a tilted shake of his head. “Tierney,” his tone was full of warning, “did the lads a favor, he did, and if you take a breath to ponder, you’ll know it, too. There’s was nothing to be gained by going back to Carraway with naught but bowed heads and hats in hand…”

“Oh, Key, don’t be thick,” Tierney snorted. “Carraway always carries notes of guarantee on all his cargo…”

“That may be,” the quartermaster cut her off, “but those men ain’t got no note of nothin’ on their reputations. Old Carraway might get his money, but that don’t mean he’d have satisfaction. He’d put his mark on ‘em, one way or another, ’til he felt he had enough in recompense.”

Tierney crinkled her nose in skepticism. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Oh, Tierney, girl,” Matthews sighed, “just because a man has a shingle and a surname don’t mean he’s always thinking aboveboard. A ship with a beholden crew is a damn fine thing to have at beck and call, and if he brands the men a slew of weak-willed cowards that would sell their lady comrade to save their own skin…”

“No one _sold_ me,” Tierney flared, “I was _taken_ , no different from the wheat or the wool…”

“But there ain’t no way to prove that, love,” Matthews insisted quietly. “Carraway could say what he likes, and our mates’d be stuck to bear the mark. He’d have ‘em all but indentured within the month, puddle-jumping at his whims just to put food in their bellies.” He soothed a paternal hand over her hair at the sight of her pinched features. “Speaking of,” he turned and gestured to the tray he’d brought, pulling a chair from the table with a no-nonsense flourish, “you can sit your skinny little arse right here and tuck in, and I’ll have no argument from you.” He frowned as she sulked past him, whipping the napkin onto her lap with an angry snap. “Starvin’ yourself to spite the man… your papa raised you to be smarter than that…”

Tierney opened her mouth to crack wise in reply, but the audible rumble of her stomach at the scent of fresh baked bread and aged cheddar cheese hit her with a wallop. She soon found herself scooping rations into her mouth by the fistful, grudgingly appreciative of Matthews’ silence as he poured strong black coffee into the cup beside her plate. He sank slowly into the seat across from her, his expression still clouded with worry as his stare traced over the shadow that darkened her features. “Does it hurt?”

Tierney shook her head, taking a long swig from her mug. “Not so much anymore.”

“That’s a blessing. Any problems seeing? Standing?”

“No, sir,” she assured him through a mouthful of juicy pear. “Steady and sure as I ever was. I won’t slow you down, Matthews, I give you my word.”

Matthews furrowed his brow at her. “Slow me down?”

“Not a hitch,” she wiped her mouth before tearing another crust from the bread. “You find a boat and the means to launch, and I’ll be with you when you go.” She was chewing with aplomb as the older man flicked his fingertips through the stubble on his jaw, spindly strands of silver and white that never fully blossomed into beard. “What?” she sniffed, taking another sip of coffee. “There ain’t but nine of them, he told me as much himself. Won’t be nothing to slip a scow out from under ‘em, if we set our minds to it…”

“Tierney,” Matthews reached over and tucked a long strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder back behind her ear. “We ain’t getting’ off this ship, love. Not like that.”

Tierney set her mug down on the tabletop with a thump. “You can’t be serious…”

“Tierney,” he leaned closer to her on his elbows. “We’re more’n week out of Bristol, empty handed and only two. Even if his crew weren’t sharp, which they are, it’d take us days to plan leave by open boat proper…”

“You _can’t_ be serious!”

“… and even if they set us off, stocked to stern with a fare-ye-well, we’d be at the mercy of more than just wind and water.” Matthews tone dropped an octave. “These ain’t the only brigands pounding the Atlantic, child.” He reached for her hand, winced a bit when she snatched it away with a glower. “This Hiddleston?” he shrugged. “He’s a scoundrel, ain’t no doubt. But from what I’ve seen, he’s got at least half a brain in his head, and he ain’t half as impulsive as most lads his age. He’s got a good feel for the current, leads with a fair hand, and his men seem both loyal and happy to serve.” His speech stuttered briefly, and he shook his head as if to clear it. “Can’t say I like him keepin’ you locked in here like his own personal plaything…”

“I am _not_ his personal plaything!” Tierney spat hotly, her affront pushing her back in her seat.

Matthews leaned down and grabbed the legs of her chair, pulling her firmly back into place. “I can see that, child, plain as that shiner on your face. Still full of piss and wind, you are.” He exhaled a soft chuckle through his nose. “One more reason to trust him, I daresay.”

“ _Trust_ him?” Tierney pounded a closed fist on the table, making the crumbs jitter nervously against her plate. “Are you _out_ of your bloody fucking mind?”

“Tierney,” Matthews barked, “you listen to me now, girl! His men said they weren’t on the Eagle for nothin’ but what Carraway loaded and I believe they speak the truth. They didn’t take a single life, they didn’t steal a single ration, they didn’t scuttle the ship, didn’t even spike her guns.” He paused, considering, but seeing her ire still on the rise, pressed on. “And you’ll forgive my sayin’ so whether you like it or not, but had you not snuffed his quartermaster, he’d not have taken you, either.”

“Oh!” Tierney leapt from her chair, her hair flying about her in a fiery cloud. “So my circumstances are _my_ fault, you’re saying!”

“Tierney,” Matthews rose as well, “I ain’t sayin’ there weren’t a one of us would’ve done anything different. You did what your gut told you, he did as well, and now here you are. Here _we_ are, and I don’t mind tellin’ you, he was none too pleased at my coming along for the push.”

“Of course he wasn’t!” she snapped. “What rat invites the cat along when he’s whiskers-deep in the larder?"

“And there’s the rub, girl,” Matthews took her, firm but gentle, by the arms, “he weren’t upset I insisted on coming along to look after you. He were right affronted I assumed there’d be a need!” He smiled a little as cross confusion furrowed her brow, chucked an affectionate finger beneath her chin. “Stupid old sot thinks he can control himself around you and this pretty face of yours.”

Tierney’s cheeks colored as she ducked her head ever so slightly. “Well, he’s done a fair fine job of that so far.” The sting of the admission surprised her, made it easier to accept the older gent’s warm hug as a means to hide her face. “So,” she shook her shoulders a bit as he released her, lifting her chin with a proud little sniff. “We stay the course for now?”

Matthews nodded, his face awash with relief. “We stay the course for now. Rebel colonies four weeks out…”

Tierney blanched, grinned. “He trusted you with destination information?”

Matthews offered her a sly wink. “Wouldn’t say he trusted me with it, but he don’t always notice when I’m checking sheets and tacks and haulin’ rigging to and fro.” The pair shared a brief laugh before the old man patted her shoulder once more. “Can’t say I’ve heard how long he plans to drop anchor, but we’ll at least have a day or two a brisk swim from shore. If we need to take our leave, we’ll do it then, slip away into the settlements if we have to ‘til we find safe passage home.”

For the first time since seeing his face, Tierney felt a queer roll of uncertain anxiety twist briefly through her stomach. “And what becomes of us then, Matthews?”

Keoghan narrowed his eyes, curled his lip in a sneer of comforting defiance. “I don’t know, little lady, but I do know that I ain’t worried a whit. You’ve got your father’s brains inside that skull of yours, his lion heart beatin’ away in your chest. And me? I was slippin’ the links of trouble years before you found your sea legs. There’s no storm yet that’s bested the team of Matthews and McCrae,” he nudged her chin a hitch higher with the crook of one finger, “we’ll come through this one just as neat as you please.”

Tierney had just offered a small, reassured smile when the reedy cry of the boatswain’s whistle sounded above their heads. “That’s my cue there, little lady,” he turned from her, shuffling quickly to pile her empty plate and cup back onto his tray. “You take your rest,” he instructed absently as he headed for the door. “Get some sun on your face, bring yourself to full strength. Miles to go yet, love, but we’ll keel through.”

Tierney followed him into the anteroom, pouting her lip at the sight of the brass key that appeared in his hand. “Morning duties nearly done, eh?” she teased morosely. “Get me to eat, cool my steam, then lock me in tight.”

“Oh, Tierney, love,” Matthews titled his head in affectionate sympathy. “We’re working on it, lass, the captain and me both, but ain’t neither of us ready to state with certainty we’re there yet.” When the young woman continued to stare blankly into his eyes, he reached out to give the open flap of her collar a brief but meaningful tug. “I ain’t locking you in, girl. I’m locking the rest of ‘em out.” With that, the man slipped through the door and closed it snug, the click of the latch sliding home masking the sound of Tierney’s strained swallow.

She stood in the sun-dappled space of the antechamber for a lingering moment, feeling the ship shift pleasantly beneath her bare feet. Then, chewing on her lip, she made her way to the large, handsome table littered with charts and maps and tools of navigation. Nudging a chair aside, she leaned over onto her elbows, traced the lines plotted by the captain’s elegant hand with the tip of one finger. Her forehead creased in thought as she dragged the open log closer, compared one to the other. She measured and re-measured, checked calculations twice before standing square once more with a sigh of grudging agreement. Her eyes wandered aimlessly around the room until they lit on a narrow door hinged in the corner; with a curious hum, she crossed the floor and pulled it open.

Her breath left her in a gasp of delight as a gust of salty-sweet air blew her hair back from her face. The balcony was small, just large enough to accommodate one straight-standing body. The carved wooden balustrade was weathered but solid and sturdy, and she leaned comfortably against it to peek over the side, down at the water rushing only a few yards beneath the perch.

_Clever design_ , she thought to herself, realizing an able seaman could easily confirm the position of his vessel from where she stood, no need to climb the stairs to the decks above. _Lazy sod._ She smirked to herself as she pictured the errant Captain Hiddleston rising from his berth in the middle of a storm, taking the seven foot shortcut while his men were tossed about the decks above, sparing himself a good soaking while they splashed and shivered and kept the ship on course. Tossing her head with an impertinent sniff, she closed her eyes and leaned into the spray.

Matthews returned briefly after the chiming of four bells to deliver her lunch, which Tierney ate in distracted silence, her knee bouncing rhythmically beneath the tabletop, her fingers drumming restlessly against the bowl of her cup. At last, tired of pacing the floor of her elegant cage, she made her way to the shelves lined with books, perusing aimlessly until a particular volume caught her eye. “ ** _Paradise Lost_** ,” she sighed, pulling it down and flipping it open. “How appropriate.”

She was lost pages in, and never heard the six bells ring, nor the sound of the cabin door opening and closing shortly after. It was only when a long, strong arm set a plate heavy with fragrant beef and potatoes and cheese and tiny, sweet onions on the sill beside her that she startled back to reality, slamming the book shut and holding it to her chest like a shield.

“Soft, little redwing,” the captain chuckled, holding both hands aloft and taking a step back. “The bite’s been butchered out of him, not that cattle have much bite to begin with…” His gentle mocking trailed off as she scuttled herself deep into the corner once more, and he fixed her with a withering stare. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, not this again.” He shook a partially playful finger her direction. “I know full well your appetite’s intact, and you are now aware I know. What say you abandon this empty act of martyrdom and eat your goddamn dinner, eh? Find some other tack to make yourself unpleasant company besides wasting rations that could feed one of my men?” He narrowed his gaze pointedly. “Or one of yours?”

She glowered at him, stony silence crushing them both until it seemed all air had left the room. Then at last, her icy blue eyes never leaving his, she reached over to pluck an onion from the warm puddle of savory juices, pushing it between her lips with a silent sneer.

Thomas’ face lit with an easy smile. “There’s a good girl, much better, thank you.”

He moved to fill the glasses on the table, and Tierney chewed madly at the pungent salty-sweet pulp, her stomach more achurn from the sting of his indictment and the reluctant pleasure from his praise than the acidic juices she swallowed down. She forced herself to reach for the mug he offered with slow reluctance, waited until his back was turned to gulp a shot of the syrupy rum to settle her nerves. She watched him warily through side-cut eyes as he lowered his lanky, well-toned length into his chair, pulled her own plate closer as he dug into his own with zeal.

“Your Matthews,” the name fell easily from the captain’s lips, and Tierney all but choked on the bite of meat in her mouth. “Damn good man, that one. Strong back, capable hands,” Thomas took a sip from his own cup. “Listens well, moves fast, learns faster. Knows when to speak… more importantly, knows when not to,” his respectful grin resonated in his tone. “Rare talent. I’m quite glad he decided to come aboard…”

Tierney’s eyes were ablaze as her mouth fell open to release a haughty retort, until the quick glance he spared her over his shoulder let her see the teasing crook of the pirate’s brow. She snapped her jaw shut, teeth clicking audibly when they collided. “Are you deliberately baiting me,” she hissed through them, “ _sir_?”

“Ah, lovely redwing, I would never,” he turned his attention back to his meal with a satisfied snicker. “Besides,” he tossed back a bite of soft potato, “no need for bait, now I’ve already caught you.”

“Oh!” Tierney could hold back her bile no longer. “Well, don’t you go breaking that arm of yours patting yourself on the back, _Mr. Thomas William Hiddleston_ , because you damn sure can’t keep me forever!”

He cast her another mirth-filled wink. “Might be fun to try.”

Tierney squeezed her eyes shut, pursed her lips together in a thin, furious line, a hundred angry epithets battling to burst from her throat. _He’s_ enjoying _this! The miserable, bleating bastard’s_ enjoying _it! You shut that mouth of yours right this instant, girl, don’t you_ dare _give him one more moment of enjoyment at your expense._ Sniffing angrily through her nostrils, she began to tear her beef into shredded strips, stuffing them between her lips each time she felt her tongue about to run away from her. Mercifully, the captain seemed blissfully preoccupied with his own food, and the two ate for long moments in wordless quiet.

When she was finished, Tierney thrust her empty plate across the sill, hugging her knees to her chest and staring out the window. The moon and stars were on dazzling display, and the wind had calmed to a whisper, leaving the waves to lap at the sides of the ship in soft, lazy strokes. She could feel the heat of the captain’s body when he stepped over to take the dish away, goosebumps flittering across her skin in prickling, unwelcome flocks. She watched from the corner of her eye as he traced a finger over the embossed leather tome by her feet, refused to sigh in relief when he stepped away to cross the room.

He returned a moment later, a different book extended from one hand. “Not that you’re not welcome to finish that one, but I can’t help but think you’ll find this one a more… enjoyable read.” Her hand reached for the volume before she was aware, and the delight that flitted over his features was not lost on her as she accepted it, frowning briefly at the words etched into the cover. “ _Don Quixote_ ,” he enunciated gracefully, “a singular gentleman, I assure you.”

Tierney let her eyes meet his, open and clear, a thousand questions bubbling behind her lips. _What are you doing? Where are we going? Why are you holding me here? What do you want from me? If you want…_ that _… why haven’t you tried to take it? Why haven’t you touched me at all?_

What came out was, “Why in the bloody hell do you have a bathtub?”

Thomas blinked, assuring her that, of all the queries he might have expected her to pose, that one caught him most off guard. He laughed easily, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the smooth rise and fall of his Adam’s apple beneath the skin of his throat making her stomach take another queer hitch and roll. “That, my dear, is the eccentric indulgence of fair Bronny’s previous owner.”

Tierney stared at him blankly. “Previous owner?”

“Indeed,” Thomas nodded smartly before reaching for the rum bottle, refilling her glass and then his own. “A Lord Cecil Anderson Ackerman of Bury St. Edmunds. Commissioned her in 1705 to run silk and saltpeter for the Honourable East India Company. So precious was his cargo that the man felt it wise to reside aboard ‘round the clock.” He tipped back his glass, swallowed a mouthful with relish. “Frightful indulgences, sure, but they do make for damn comfortable runs – you should have Conall tour you the kitchens, all these odd little bits and bobs…”

“Is there anything you have’s not been stolen from another?”

It took Tierney a heartbeat to realize the sarcastic question that cut him off had come from her own mouth, and she paled ever so slightly as Thomas’ gaze darkened in offense.

“That was quite rude,” his tone was injurious. “I’ll have you know that was a fair hand of Whist what won me Bronny’s title… the man weren’t even drunk!”

A tiny laugh yipped unbidden from Tierney’s throat. “You… you gambled the man’s ship out from under him?” She couldn’t keep the subtle note of grudging admiration from her tone, and Thomas’ smile of rakish pride revealed he heard it loud and clear.

“I did,” he confirmed with a wink, “fair and true.”

“Eh,” Tierney gave a wry shrug, “gambling’s its own brand of thievery, wouldn’t you say? Pilfering with permission, at best.”

“Ah,” Thomas waggled a finger at her as he lifted his cup to his lips once more, “’tis the permission that matters most.” Tierney rolled her eyes, rocking a bit as she hugged her legs close and tried to ignore the twinkle in his eye as he watched her closely. “Were you wanting a dip, my dear?”

“What? No!” Tierney snipped, a tad too quickly, tossing her hair when he laughed once more.

“Are you certain, sweet?” he teased warmly.

“I am…”

“I’ve never fired the damn thing up myself…” Thomas twiddled the lace of his collar idly through his fingers.

“You don’t need to fire the damn thing up now…” Tierney shifted in irritation.

“All you have to do is ask me nicely…”

“Why does it give you such pleasure to take from so many?”

The demand was harsh, harsher than she’d intended, and Tierney couldn’t even take delight in the surprised chagrin that collapsed the captain’s expression. “I beg your pardon?”

“Captain Thomas Hiddleston, beast of the _Bronwyn_ , merry marauder, happy to haul his lads aboard your boat and help himself to what he likes.” Her tone was weakly vicious, but she could neither sharpen its edge nor soften her words. “D’you ever pause for a moment to think about the people you steal from?”

She expected indignant anger. Instead, Thomas’ brow lifted in a curious arch. “Well,” he grabbed his chair and scraped it across the floor, swinging one long leg over and resting his chin on the back. “Let’s do that, shall we? Let’s take a moment to think about the last man I stole from.” Tierney turtled into herself beneath his intense and unwavering stare. “Alistair Carraway of Norwich. Barters in wheat, rye, barley, and wool. Little bit of house on a little bit of land, kind and generous benefactor who single-handedly rallied his neighbors into a lovely little farm community, lent his brains to the sweat of their backs to take their production and turn it into profit, yeah?”

Tierney nodded, swallowing the lump that had materialized from nowhere to fill her throat.

“Pretty little redwing,” he clicked his tongue in gentle admonition, “all that profit? Lines his own pockets. He pays those people _a third_ of what their land and labor yields, enough to keep their heads above water without letting them rise so high he can’t step on them anymore. A nice little fiefdom he’s built himself, but my boys and me?” He tilted his head with a wicked grin.   “We’re out to put a shiny little dent in his coffers. And when those people who bend and bleed for the bounty wake to find a little something extra slipped under the door, well, who’s to say where it came from?” He swirled the amber liquor in his cup before finishing it in a gulp.

Tierney sat in stoic silence as he rose from his chair, sliding it back into its place beneath the table before piling the empty dishes onto the tray and carrying them out the door. She listened to the muted clatter as he set the haul aside, and when he did not immediately return to the bedroom, she slipped quietly from her perch and tiptoed to the doorway.

The captain was bent over the charts, lost in thought, a thin pencil tucked between his teeth. She watched the flickering lantern light winking in the depths of his coppery curls, the fluid grace of his long fingers as they traced their way along the map, as they idly caressed the soft scruff at his chin. He didn’t seem to note her presence when he dropped the compass with a sigh, moving to lean in the window, his body framed by the velvet blue night beyond.

_Why won’t you touch me?_

The question rolled over and over in her mind, the words losing all meaning in their repetition. Slowly, Tierney backed away from the study, returning to her own window seat with a heavy stride. She stared out at the peacefully waving water until the silence of the room was too loud to bear, then picked up the books and moved towards the bed.

It was there that Thomas found her after making his final rounds of the night: after taking tea with the lads on watch, after making sure Conall had all the help he needed stowing the unused rations of the day, after rousing Hannibal from where he’d dozed at his desk in the infirmary and shooing him to his berth for proper sleep. He’d passed Matthews on the quarter deck and offered a respectful nod, snuffed the lanterns as he ambled down the hall, locked the door of his cabin and slipped the key deep into his pocket.

His hostage was tucked into his bed, still fully dressed and concealed by the linens. Yet tonight, her body lay relaxed into the mattress instead of clinging to its edge. Her hair was spread about the pillow, a beautiful, unruly mess, one hand curled beneath her chin. The shadow of the shiner he’d left on her was beginning to fade; it occurred to him, not for the first time, that it only served to highlight the beauty of her face. And there, tented on her lap, a dozen pages in, his copy of **_Don Quixote de La Mancha._**

It was the soft thud of the book hitting the floor that roused her from her sleep. She frowned briefly, blinking in the dark, rubbing at her unbruised eye with the heel of her hand. Once again, the cool and soundless still of the room told her she was alone, and she sat up slowly, waiting for her vision to adjust to the dim. The other side of the bed was undisturbed and empty, as were both chairs at the table. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and Tierney rose from the berth, pressing one palm against the nervous churning in her stomach. She tiptoed cautiously across the room, craned her neck to peer through the small crack between the panel and the jamb. The main cabin was closed up tight, and she had no reason to believe it wasn’t locked as well. Thomas wasn’t sitting at the desk, wasn’t leaning over the charts, and when she dared to poke her head into the anteroom, she could see he wasn’t standing at the window, either. She strained her ears for sounds from the decks above and heard none – no creaking of planks as men walked overhead, no shuffling shift of ropes or sails, not even the muffled murmur of quiet conversation.

_Where in the hell…?_

Resigned, she’d just turned on her heel to return to the bed when the air shifted, a cool draft wafting across her face. She glanced at the far corner of the room, saw the open balcony door bumping against the wall. She took a step closer, then another, then froze, choking abruptly as her heart leapt into her throat.

He was just outside on the tiny terrace, leaning in the doorway. His head rested against the frame, his soft ginger curls blowing about his neck on the damp ocean breeze. His eyes were closed and his bottom lip was caught loose between his teeth. Shirtless, his body seemed to glow in the pale blue moonlight, taut lines of muscle and sinew hitching and rolling beneath his skin. One hand was pressed to the center of his chest, his thumb playing over the defined line of his collarbone.

The other was at the open fly of his trousers, his fingers curled in a firm hold around the shaft of his cock.

Tierney felt every drop of blood pool in her burning cheeks before the shock of her discovery sent it rushing from her head in a whirlpool, leaving her dizzy and dazed and suddenly struggling to keep her knees straight beneath her.

_Jesus Christ, girl, go! Scat! NOW, before he sees you!_

She pressed her hands to her mouth, biting back her gasp, holding her breath until she felt her lungs threatening to burst behind her ribs. Her feet had taken root in the floor beneath them, refusing to rise or shuffle even an inch. And the curious corkscrews that had been twisting through her gut since she’d first laid eyes on the man spiraled harder and faster than before, striking a sensitive spot behind her navel and burrowing deep, sending fingers of illicit heat radiating through every nerve below.

_For mercy’s sake, girl, get the hell out of here! NOW!_

A soft, sultry sigh drifted from the captain’s throat; Tierney felt it vibrate through the searing, wet warmth at her core.

_Fuck all. If I’m to face the executioner, I may as well see the size of his steel._

Taking a deep a breath, letting it out slowly, Tierney squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and let her eyes wander the sight before her.

Long and thick, he was wholly erect in his grasp, heavy threads of full veins throbbing beneath the stroke of his fingers. The smooth skin of his head glistened purple in the dusky light, the muscles of his abdomen twitching as he teased his thumb around the leaking slit in the center. She felt her mouth go dry as she watched the circle of his grip slide down toward the tuft of downy hair that tickled the base of his length, only to tighten as it rose again. Down and up, once more and again, until she could feel her own heart thrumming in tandem. A low but urgent groan drew her focus back to his face, and she bit down on the insides of her cheeks to stifle an urgent little mewl of her own.

His eyes were still closed, the moon casting feathery shadows on the hollows beneath his lashes. His jaw was slack, the tip of his tongue curled over his bottom lip. She could see the labor of his breath working the sinew of his throat, the bellows of his chest; as his touch moved faster, faster, she cupped her hands between her own legs, pressing desperately against a biting, gnawing ache that had only ever tickled and teased in the past. She grit her teeth, every muscle clenched, every tendon taut until she felt some vestige of self-control return to her quivering form.

And then, his voice, husky and hungry. “Tierney… oh, fucking Christ… _Tierney…”_

Every ounce of strength she had fled with the air that left her lungs, and as Thomas grunted roughly through his release, her feet unglued themselves from the floor and she stumbled gracelessly back to the bedroom. She fell to her knees at the foot of the bunk, shaking with fear and anger and confusion.

_My name!_ MY _name! He said my name… he knows my name… oh, FUCKING KEOGHAN TOLD HIM MY NAME!_

Pushing herself to standing, she lunged for the decorative decanter set on the table. Uncorking it, she upended it directly into her mouth, swallowing a hefty draught, then another before shoving it hastily back into place. Coughing and sputtering as quietly as she could into her fists, she scuttled back to the bed, hurling herself between the sheets and curling herself around the pillow. Her thumbnail worked its way between her teeth as she struggled to calm the hammering pulse inside her chest. She closed her eyes, hugged her arms across her chest, and squeezed her thighs together until the throbbing inferno between them at last faded to a dull but nagging, guttering burn.

She’d no idea how much time had passed before the squeak of hinges heralded the opening of the door; she snapped her lids together and forced herself to breathe a slow, even pace. The latch clicked softly into place, and she listened intently to the pirate’s measured footsteps as he approached the bed. She could feel the weight of his shadow as he stood beside the berth, shivered at the dusting of breeze as he pulled back his half of the blankets before lowering himself to lie beside her. She could hear the slightly ragged edge to his respirations, wondered if she were simply imagining it. She opened her mouth briefly, then closed it again when she realized she had no idea what to say.

She’d just convinced herself that she was safe to relax both her body and her mind when she felt the mattress shift, heard the sounds of Thomas settling at last into his pillow with a weary sigh. Her eyes popped open in the dark, and as his rhythmic inhale-exhale lengthened, slowed, she felt her stomach shift queerly once more.

_He was looking at me._

Her teeth buried themselves once again in the plump purchase of her bottom lip. One small but certain hand drifted down past her belly to nudge against the curious twinge between her legs, her hips rolling against the cruelly inadequate pressure. A wayward lock of heavy hair fell loose from the bracket of her ear, and behind its crimson curtain, her lips curled in sweet, secret smile.

_He said my name._


	4. Chapter 4

The quartermaster’s cabin was small and snug, with a single-wide berth tucked into the corner and a chest of drawers bolted into the wall. Tierney crossed to the latter with a watery sigh, dropping the brass key that would lock the door onto the dresser top before leaning against it to stare into the mirror mounted just above. The brow she saw was creased and crinkled, the eyes beneath a cobalt storm of confusion and frustration.

It had been almost two weeks since that night in the anteroom, where her surreptitious spying had revealed an entirely different side of the captain holding her captive - one that set her brain to spinning inside her skull, her stomach churning behind her navel. The beckoning beauty of his body was one thing, but she’d been surrounded by fit and fine-looking men her entire life; any curious coveting she’d felt now and again had been a fleeting thing, none seeming to last much longer than a stubborn springtime storm. Perhaps her fancies passed because she was living with men who’d watched her grow from fry to fingerling and may as well have been blood kin. Perhaps it was because they’d all resided in the shadow of her great giant guardian, everyone’s beloved Red, and his six-feet-eight inches of mass and muscle. Whatever the reason, pushing a man from her mind had never proven difficult before; Tierney’s temper was more than a little out of sorts at finding thoughts of Captain Thomas Hiddleston sneaking into her subconscious all hours of the day. And night.

_Perhaps it’s because you’ve never seen another in his altogether before._ A delicious shiver scampered up the mast of her spine. _Not like_ that _, anyway…_

She’d awakened that next day to the ringing of seven bells, blinking beneath the spill of her hair as the images of the night before waltzed across her brain with casual grace – the dance of his curls on the sea swept breeze, the rise and fall of his chest as he panted quietly into the night, the streaks of milky white that erupted from his swollen cock to splash across the firm muscles of his abdomen.

Her name, dressed in the urgent tones of his voice, echoing through her brain.

As she lay in the warmth of the rising sun, her ears tuned in to the soft and steady whisper of inhale-exhale and she realized that, this morning, she was not alone in the bed. Remembering the sensation of his body turning away from hers as she feigned sleep, she paused only a moment before slowly rolling over, only to freeze stock still, her breath catching in her throat like a lump of sizzling coal. Apparently, at some point during the night, Thomas had shifted once more, and she now found the two of them lying face to face.

She took a moment to convince herself that he was, in fact, still deeply asleep before letting her air out in a silent, shuddering sigh; her thumbnail found its way between her teeth as she let her stare settle on his features. His forehead was smooth, relaxed, marred only by the tiniest scar over his left eyebrow. His lashes caught the golden glow of the sun, as did the gingery strands that bordered the thin, flushed bow of his lips.

_Tierney… fucking Christ…_ Tierney…

She covered her own mouth with her hand as she swallowed with effort, then let her eyes drift lazily lower, following the topography of veins and ligaments down the line of his throat. She recalled the sheen of sweat pooled in its hollow as he worked himself to culmination, blinked abruptly to clear the vision from her mind.

_Why was he wanking?_

The question bubbled unbidden to the surface of her brain, her brow stitching and her mouth pursing as she pondered.

_I was right ‘round the corner, behind a door he locks himself. Why not come after me if his blood was up?_

She gazed a long moment at the peacefully throbbing pulse just visible below his chin.

_He’s a rogue, but he’s no fool. He knows as much as he’s a chance at pinning you down, you’ve equal a chance at fighting him off. And only one of you has proven you’ll take a life to save your own._

Thomas’ breathing hitched a bit, drew in deeper, blew out slower; Tierney observed the roll of his chest in persistent silence.

_Could be he’s got a streak of decent in him. After all, he could have fucked you fifty times over by now, girl, the way he’s gotten past your guard._

She scoffed bravado to herself, brazenly cast her gaze to the trail of downy hair that descended into the fly of his trousers, down over the outline of the ample weight below.

_Maybe… he true doesn’t want to…_

Beside her, Thomas cleared his throat, and a little squeak of guilty surprise hiccupped from Tierney’s lips. His eyes were open, aware, full of impish light as he watched her, and she felt her cheeks begin to burn as her blood rushed to fill them.

“Good morning, little redwing,” he grinned.

“Why do you call me that?” she snapped before flipping over onto her other side, presenting him the frigid line of her back. “Because of my hair? How clever you are.” The snort of his responding laughter was light and easy, and Tierney grit her teeth again at his lack of concern over her ire.

“You’ve never seen a redwing, I take it,” he yawned, “or, if you have, you’ve not played close attention.” He shifted onto his back, settled into his pillow with an arm behind his head. “Most vibrant colors are reserved for the male of the feathered species. But the lady redwing? She’s got her share of scarlet as well.”   Tierney fought back a shiver as she felt his fingers pluck one of her long, thick tresses from the mattress between them, lifting it to catch the sun before letting it go once more. “And you never see it so plain as when she spreads her wings to fly.”

Squeezing her eyes shut for a heartbeat, then drawing in a double lungful of indignation, she cut him a cool glance over her shoulder. “Well, my name is Tierney,” she enunciated slowly.

“Tierney,” Thomas repeated the word, his tongue caressing it as if savoring the flavor, then quirked a brow. “That’s a lad’s name.”

Her mouth dropped open in affront. “ _My father_ gave me my name, I’ll have you know, to honor the wishes of _my mother_.”

“I doubt it not,” Thomas shrugged. “Doesn’t change the fact that she picked you a lad’s name and your father wrapped it ‘round you like a swaddle.”

Tierney knew he was teasing, prodding to get a rise, but she couldn’t stop herself from pounding a fist into her pillow, leaving an impressive dent to sulk into. “I happen to like my name, _Thomas_ ,” she hissed. “I wear it with pride.”

The bed shifted, and all at once, the heat of him was against her from the heels of her feet to the curve of her neck where he hooked his chin over her shoulder to murmur against her cheek. “Then that’s all that matters, eh?”

Tierney turned to face him as best she could, her pouted lip just brushing the tidy scruff of his chin.

_Here? Now? Is this how we greet today? Come for me then, Thomas Hiddleston, but I swear by the man AND the woman you mock that there’s a surprise or two in store for you…_

She waited for him to fist her hair at her scalp and force her to her back, to feel the air on her skin as he tore her clothes from her body, to watch the fire in his stare consume her as he spread her legs. Instead, she barked a yelp as his palm landed on the curve of her buttocks in a hearty smack.

“Wh…?”

The mirth in his eyes was lovely contrast to the stark set of his jaw. “Get your lazy arse out of this bed, sassy little shite! You’ve rested on fair Bronny’s hospitality long enough. You owe her a debt, even beyond earning your keep. And though I do appreciate you prettying up my cabin and perfuming up my sheets, all that does my crew not a damn bit of service.” He rolled away from her and pushed himself to his feet, clearly relishing her shocked surprise. “There’s men to feed, mess to clean, stores to check, and rigging to tend.” He opened a drawer in the bureau in the corner, tossed a fresh white tunic over his head. “You’ll report to deck at eight bells proper,” he bent to tug his boots up over his feet, “or I’ll flog you before the company just as I would any other dawdling deckhand.” He scooped up his waistcoat and wide leather belt, dropping her another wink. “Come on, Tierney, the Atlantic awaits.”

He swept out of the room with all the bluster of a northern wind, and Tierney sat a long moment, staring agog at the open doors he left in his wake. The cry of the boatswain’s whistle finally jerked her from her daze, and before she knew it, she’d thrown back the linens, only to hurriedly set the bed to rights before rushing across the room to collect her own belongings. A wave at once foreign and familiar settled over her shoulders as she buckled her own belt into place; it wasn’t until her fingers were flying through her hair, plaiting it into a heavy cord to hang down her back, that she could put a name to it.

For the first time since waking to the sound of guns singing warning to the Eagle, she felt herself.

Matthew’s expression of shocked surprise when she emerged from the hatch, blinking and shielding her eyes against the glare, gave her the first real laugh she’d had in days. “Tierney!” he scuttled to her side, catching her elbow and pulling her aft, away from the small rabble of assembling men shooting her curious glances beneath their kerchiefs and caps.

“What in blazes are you doing up here, little lady?”

“Have you not heard?” Tierney’s light-hearted quip took on a sneering edge as the captain emerged from the forecastle, “I owe _fair Bronny_ a debt…”

“Fair mornin’ to ye, mates!” Thomas’ friendly bellow was met by a hearty rumble of approval as the cluster of burly bodies milling about the deck fell into a vague semblance of a line, Thomas himself reaching for the cord on the ship’s bell to ring the eight a.m. chimes. “Apologies for making you stand on ceremony, but we’ve a new hand to welcome to our ranks.” He tossed his chin Tierney’s direction, grinned at the sight of her lifting her own while squaring her frame. “Her man Matthews has reassured me fiery Tierney there is as cunning and capable as any swinging cock I could put to decks, and since you’ve all found it easy to work with him…” Another chorus of agreeable mutters rolled through the crew, the lads jostling their shoulders against one another as they nodded at the older gent now busy studying the scuffs on his shoes. “I expect you’ll all make way and work with her as well.” He paused a moment, then glanced up at the gulls wheeling overhead. “Right, then.” With that, he turned and trotted leisurely down the steps towards the mess.

“Well,” Tierney jeered, her tone not nearly as heavy with contempt as she might have preferred, “ain’t he just the silver tongue?”

Her stomach was burbling away beneath her belt when she accepted a plate from the man she could only assume was Conall, the sheen of sweat in the open neck of his shirt shining as bright as his broad, bald head.

“Mornin’ there, lassie,” he ducked beneath the block in front of him, rising with a handful of ruby red raspberries. “Cap and Mr. Matthews ain’t got a taste for these buggers, said I should give their ration to you.”

Tierney pulled her plate back from his outstretched offering, narrowing her eyes. “Did they now?”

“Oh, hey,” the man’s green eyes twinkled, “this ain’t no show of gallantry, miss. You don’t want ‘em I’ll be more than happy…” He lifted his fist to his mouth, pausing to give her chance to reconsider.

After brief consideration, Tierney extended her dish once more. “Give me half, have the rest.”

“Ah, now, see?” Conall obliged, dropping half a dozen of the plump berries next to the ham. “We’s gonna be friends, you and me.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear!” Thomas’ boisterous tone at her elbow made her start, and she blanched indignantly as he plucked a small chunk of potato from her portion and popped it into his mouth. “You know,” he leaned closer, tipping his head towards the cook and chewing in her ear, “Conall here’s a miracle maker, but he’s never had a proper mess hand.”

“Oh really?” Tierney tilted her body away from him, a snide little smile on her lips. “Well,” she turned back to the man at the counter, “Conall, I’m sure your kitchen is quite comfortable, and you yourself seem delightful company. However,” she spun on her toes, reaching to snag the soft hunk of warm roll perched on the edge of Thomas’ plate, “I’ve never done much but burn the bread and spoil the stew.” She watched the tip of the captain’s tongue play at the corner of his smirk as she took a hearty bite. “I think my talents would be put to better use elsewhere.” Tossing her heavy braid over her back, she strode away, nose in the air, to the bench where Matthews sat waiting for her, shaking his head.

The food was hot and hearty, and when she emerged from the dining room to the deck, sun and sea spray on her face, she caught herself feeling almost at home. She fell into the same easy rhythm with Matthews that she always had, culling cables, feeding and watering the livestock below decks, taking inventory of the cargo ( _our cargo_ , she seethed silently to herself) and making certain it was secured within the hold. She’d just climbed the ladder back to the quarter deck when she found herself nose to chest with a calm and quiet cedar-haired chap who barely gave her a moment to gasp before lifting his hands to her face.

“Mmm,” he hummed as he traced his thumbs along her brow, prodded carefully at the curve of her left cheek.   “Any dizziness? Headaches? Dyspepsia? Vomiting?”

Tierney exhaled a wry titter through her nostrils. “Ah, the good Dr. Hannibal, yes?”

“Hannibal is my given name, child,” he sniffed. “If you have need of my credentials, I am recorded as Dr. Hannibal Sauer of Cologne. Educated and trained and the _Universidad de Valladolid_ , practiced four years independently at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital before being commissioned as surgeon aboard the _Bronwyn_ in 1705.”

“Well, I wasn’t dyspeptic before,” Tierney’s eyes flashed blue mischief at the physician’s scowl before she stared straight ahead once more. “No, sir, no dizziness. No vomiting, neither. Headache’s come and gone the last day or two, mostly gone since last evening…”

“Told you she was a tough one, _cuchillo_ ,” a small, spry fellow with caramel colored skin and an unruly mop of ebony hair jostled his way behind the doctor, making the taller man clench his jaw and exhale an impatient huff. “Kept Hennessey on his toes ‘fore she put him on his back.” He dropped an irresistible wink Tierney’s direction. “Seen her swingin’ that steel, never woulda guessed she was a _muchacha.”_

“Yes, thank you, Guillermo, for that colorful commentary,” Hannibal’s tone was clean and clipped as he eyed at the heavy folds of sail bundled into the Spaniard’s arms, “shouldn’t you be… putting that… somewhere?” He clenched his teeth until the deckhand had shuffled on his way, then squinted once more at the fading bruise that still colored Tierney’s cheek. “Heat would help this to fade, my dear,” he sighed a little, “but if you can bear it, might be best to let it linger until it heals on its own.” He cast his gaze around the ship, eyes lighting on one man, then the next, then the next. “They’re a fine crew to be sure, worthy of respect. But they are brigands, after all.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from Tierney’s brow before tracing a fingertip along the waning sunset of the shiner. “You may do well to wear this badge of honor as long as you can.”

Tierney curled her lips in a smart smile, dropped a tiny, polite bow. “I can bear it just fine, sir, and I thank you for your kind attention.” The doctor straightened his back and turned on his heel; as she watched him tread heavily towards the bow, she caught sight of the captain at the wheel.

One hand rested on a spoke in an absent caress, and his head was turned towards the mate holding the chart and compass beside him. But his eyes were glued to her face, and the grin that curled his lips above his beard sent a shiver racing from the nape of her neck up over her scalp. Tossing her braid at him once more, she bent to grab the bucket at her knees before double-timing her way across the deck to catch up with Matthews.

The pair were pushing mops along the planks beneath the foremast when a sudden whip crack filled the air, followed by the chorus of canvas flapping in the breeze. All eyes on the deck shot skyward to see the port side royal sail dancing merrily on the wind, tugging at the starboard rigging and the top of the mast itself. Two of the more burly of Hiddleston’s crew stomped over to the base, clenching their hands and scowling darkly.

“You clumsy fuckin’ fool!” the taller towhead pounded a meaty fist into his companion’s bicep. “Told you those fucking sheets wouldn’t hold!”

“Well ‘en why the fuck didn’t you tie them yourself, you’re so bloody brilliant?” the charcoal haired lad snapped back, delivering his own hefty blow to the other man’s shoulder.

“You know, if you ran your rope as well as you run that goddamn gash in your face, we’d catch wind enough to sail us Timbuktu and back again…”

“Oh, and ain’t you one to talk about how a fellow flaps his lips…”

The blonde jerked an arm upward, his finger pointing to the top of the rigging. “Get your ugly arse up there and tie down that sail!”

His mate shook his head with an angry sneer. “You’re the high and mighty master of knots; you get _your_ ugly arse up there and tie it down your goddamn self!”

Tierney and Matthews exchanged looks of silent amusement as Thomas hurried over, clapping his hands. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, calm yourselves down…” He squinted up into the sky to survey the sail still waving untethered in the wind. “No need to come to blows.”

“Cap’n, beggin’ your pardon,” the fair-haired fellow ducked his chin in a show of deference, but the biting edge lingered in his tone, “but them footropes ain’t built for a bugger like me. Last time I was up there, the fucking thing snapped, nearly sent me tumblin’ to me death off Bracklesham Bay…”

“Nobody’s ever died off Bracklesham Bay!” the darker mate sneered, his bluster cooling as he, too, turned to their commander. “Cap’n, I could go up and try to get it done, neat as you please, be happy to, really. But the last time I mounted upper topsail, my beak, she went a gusher, _pshhhhht_.” Thomas’ head jerked back to avoid the spittle that flew from the deckhand’s mouth as he pantomimed a cascading bloody nose. “Stain’s still on that one sail down in the hold…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

The handle of Tierney’s mop struck Matthew’s knuckles as she thrust it towards him; a moment later, he let both poles clatter to the deck, crossing his arms over his chest with a beaming grin as the other men clustered about to stare slack-jawed at the young woman shimmying up the rigging as nimble as a squirrel in a sycamore.

“Well, look at that,” Thomas chuffed, shooting his men a good-natured side-eye. “One of you’d better get up there before she slides back down those cables and hands you your cocks.”

Once the sail had been hauled back and re-shackled to the mast, Tierney descended as quickly as she’d climbed, closing the last yard with a graceful leap that landed her square on her feet where she’d left the deck.

“Royal sail secured,” she quipped dryly, fetching her mop and dunking it into her bucket before slopping it unceremoniously at the men’s feet. “You lads gonna step aside, or you want I should swab your shoes for you, too?”

Most of the crew gathered around her to clap a hand on her shoulder or back, and Matthew’s proud, paternal nod always warmed her heart. But what gratified her most was the spark of delight in Thomas’ eye as he crooked his brow in approval before he turned away, moving back to the gun deck to finish inspecting the cannon.

The sun was just beginning its descent into the water at the horizon when the two nearly collided at the entrance to the mess, the tray that had become a familiar sight grasped in Thomas’ hands. Tierney felt the heat of a bright flush coloring her cheeks; she could only hope it would appear as a mild case of sunburn to his curious eye.

“Back to my cell, eh?” she muttered morosely, leading as Thomas followed her aft toward his cabin.

“Ah, little redwing,” he chuckled, “all prisoners should have it so hard.”

Once seated at his table, Tierney dug into her food with a zeal she hadn’t felt in a while, her appetite sharpened and honed by a hard day’s work. Thomas didn’t seem to mind, he was only too happy to fill the air with stories of the ship’s history, as well as the history of the men in his employ. And after her plate and cup were empty, he leaned over to push aside one and refill the other.

“Every word Matthews breathed about you was true,” he said with an open and honest smile. “You’re a fucking spry deckhand, little redwing, and I’m damn glad to have you aboard my ship.”

Tierney scrunched her forehead over her glass as she took a swig, waiting for the tease she was certain would follow, but none came. Instead, Thomas shifted in his chair, leaning back and stretching his legs out before him.

“Your work on the ropes today in particular,” he crossed one ankle over the other, “stellar. It’s nice to see you settling in, getting a little more comfortable.”

“Eh,” Tierney shrugged, “a frigate’s a frigate; you learn one, you know most. Your _Bronwyn_ here may have had one corker of an architect, but she ain’t no complicated mystery.”

“No,” Thomas took a long sip of rum from his mug, his eyes making their way over her face and form from over the rim. “ _She_ certainly isn’t.”

All at once her mind was again flooded with images of the night before – his bare chest, luminous in the moonlight, the twitching muscles of his forearm as he worked his hand over his straining length, the slack of his jaw as the strongest wave of his climax washed over him – and, desperate to maintain some air of disconnection, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head.

“Where’s her nets?”

Thomas coughed a little into his cup, setting it heavily on the tabletop as he swallowed hard against a chuckle. “I’m sorry… what?”

“Her nets,” Tierney repeated, taking comfort and balance from having unbalanced him, even if only for a moment. “I’ve been up and down every plank of this bitch all day long and nary a one did I see. Don’t tell me,” her voice took on a playful mocking lilt, “you do all of your fishing by pole around here…”

“Oh!” Thomas grinned in understanding, spinning his cup with a nudge of his thumb. “No, not at all.”

Tierney’s lips pursed in confusion. “Then… your nets?”

“Oh, we don’t use them either,” Thomas shook his head, took another drink. “We don’t fish aboard the _Bronwyn_.”

Tierney cast her eyes around the cabin as if she were suddenly uncertain of her surroundings. “You… but…” She squinted at him in suspicion. “Is this some sort of pirate superstition I’m not privy to?”

“No,” Thomas chuffed in amusement, “I just can’t stand fish.” He smiled at her incredulity as he refilled his cup. “True story, love. Not the taste of it, not the feel of it in my hands,” he crinkled his nose adorably, “certainly not the smell of it.”

“You,” Tierney took another drink before leaning forward, elbows on her knees, “you’re a pirate. Captain of a ship at sea.” Thomas nodded as she continued. “You make your living on the water – you _live_ on the water,” she tilted her head,” and you don’t eat fish?”

Thomas shook his head again, taking another deep draught. “Neither fin nor filet, my dear.”

The young woman’s features twisted a bit in condescension. “Do you think that makes you interesting?”

His laughter was rich and hearty; it made her skin tingle as it settled over her like a gauzy blanket as he upended his mug, finishing every drop in a gulp. “Oh, lovely Tierney,” he growled through his grin, “there are so many other things that are _far_ more interesting about me, I assure you.” With a flourish of one hand, he rose to his feet, planting his fists at the small of his back and stretching his impressive frame into a long, lanky arch. “Come on, little redwing. Let’s get these cleared, I’m certain you’re exhausted.”

And so her days fell into an oddly reassuring pattern: rise with the sun, tend the ship with the lads through the heat and bright of the afternoon, then dinner and dialogue with her captain captor until his tongue was as tired as her pleasantly aching body. Every night it became easier and easier to crawl into his bed to drift to sleep only moments later, even as it became harder and harder to not cast long and lingering glances towards the bathtub in his private head. His words from their conversation that night rattled a nuisance in the back of her brain – _“All you have to do is ask me nicely…”_ – and she repeatedly pushed them farther back, hoping Thomas would not notice.

Those hopes were dashed the evening he rose to clear the table without bidding her help, then paused as he leaned to take her plate to sniff the air just above her braid. Her head snapped up on her neck, and she glowered at him, her hand fisted on the back of her chair.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Oi, Tierney,” he offered her a furrowed little frown.

“Oh, shut your fucking gob,” she whipped her head around once more, loathe to let him see the blush that stained her cheeks. “Like you smell of tea and roses.”

He was shaking his head as he carried their refuse to the anteroom, clicking his tongue in a most annoying manner, and when he returned he rounded the corner into the bathroom without a word. Tierney sat sneering at her fingernails until the sounds of metallic rattling and gurgling water and the scent of heated char filled the air. Thomas emerged a moment later to find her shaking her own head, her chair tipped back on two legs as she glared his direction.

“Oh, no…”

“Oh, yes,” he answered plain, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Get your arse in there.”

“I will not!” Tierney flashed blue daggers, lifting her chin a stubborn notch. “Soak your own arse if it makes you happy, but mine is just fine right here, please and thank you!”

“Well,” Thomas crossed his arms over his chest before stepping towards her at a steady, even pace, “I hope it plans to sleep there, then,” he scoffed, “because this?” He crinkled his long, fine nose as he inhaled. “Is not getting into my bed with me.”

“Oh!” Tierney sprang from her chair to meet him toe to toe. “And you think ‘tis some great, grand privilege, sharing a berth with you? You… you… sheet-stealing, snoring old oaf! You’re no pile of perfumed primroses yourself!”

“Well, then,” the twinkle in the ocean of his eyes was both infuriating and irresistible, “we’re agreed and everybody’s happy.” He waggled a finger beneath her nose. “I mean it, Tierney. No bath, no bed.”

Silence descended between the two as they stared one another down, his expression arrogant and aloof, hers clenched in deadly defiance. Finally, with an angry hiss through grinding teeth, Tierney dropped her head to hood her gaze.

“Fine, _Thomas_. I’ll have a bath.”

His face broke into a bright and brilliant smile. “There’s a good girl,” he praised, landing a hearty smack to her backside as she stalked past him. She bit back her yip of surprise, refusing to acknowledge the contact at all. But once she’d entered the tiny room filling with delicious warmth from the squat, pot-bellied stove, she couldn’t resist closing the door with a haughty slam.

The metal basin was little more than halfway full of cool, clear water; a thick, deep cauldron sat on the stove top, tiny bubbles just starting to climb the inside edges. Tierney grasped the handle and upended the pot into the tub a little at a time, swirling the water with her free hand until it was steaming just hot enough. With a heavy sigh, she unlaced her tunic and unbuttoned her breeches, stripping both from her body and dropping them in a heap on the floor. She pulled her heavy braid over her shoulder and began to unwind it, shaking her head and combing her fingers through her locks until they unfurled in coppery waves landing just below her waist. Finally, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip, she dipped one foot into the liquid heat, then the other, sinking into its embrace with a weary sigh.

There was a shapeless lump of soap sitting on a small shelf set into the wall, and Tierney curled her fingers around it, dunking it into the water and spinning in between her palms. A foam of suds appeared in her hands and she smoothed them over her arms, up to her neck, down over her breasts and belly. She rubbed the lather over her legs next, along the arches of her feet, between her toes, then washed her hands once more before splashing water over her face. Finally, she slid down, submerging completely beneath the surface.

She’d propped herself up against the back of the tub after scrubbing her hair to a soapy froth, her fingertips playing idly over the tops of her thighs. Tilting her head back to the ceiling, she closed her eyes, sighing as the steam rising from the water tickled its way along her neck. That sigh broadened to a soft whimper as, once again, the captain’s half-naked form materialized behind her lids.

_For the love of all things holy, Thomas! Just a few moments of peace, please? Leave me be._

The only reply that came was her name in his voice, a husky, demanding plea.

_Tierney… fucking Christ…_ Tierney…

Her eyes screwed even tighter, her teeth biting her lips together as her hands drifted beneath the bubbles, delving into the cleft between her legs and pressing against the spot where his words seem to resonate the strongest. A poker of white hot sensation prodded its way through her stomach as she spread the plump, slippery flesh; her hips jerked reflexively towards her clumsy, uncertain touch.

_Stop this vulgarity, girl! Stop it right now!_

She actually shook her head at her own judgmental thoughts, strands of her lathered locks sliding down her neck and shoulders.

_But… oh, God… feels so good…_

The fingers of her right hand began to trace a tentative circle around the tiny, aching nub just below her pelvis as the fingers of her left crept lower, fluttered nervously at the snug little ring of muscle at her entrance.

_Bet his would feel even better..._

Her gasp was musical as the image in her mind shifted, changed. Behind her eyes, he was there with her, as bare and beautiful as he’d been on the balcony. His chest was firm, sculpted muscle against her back, his breath as hot as dragon’s fire against her neck. And below the water’s surface, her hands gripped his wrists as he explored her, opened her, lifted her, and then it was neither her fingers nor his nudging against that snug and secret gateway that would let him all the way in…

A sudden cannon crack of thunder rocked the ship from stem to stern, and Tierney came back to herself with a splash and a startled little squeal. Her eyes popped open, and she couldn’t help but take in her appearance – her nipples pricked to solid rubies poking their proud heads from beneath the bubbles, the pale slope of her taut stomach heaving with every shuddering breath, her hands tangled in the crimson curls that concealed her sex. Yanking them away, she sat bolt straight in the tub, grabbing the soap and scrubbing fitfully at her skin and scalp once more.

_Damn you, Thomas William Hiddleston! Damn you straight to Hell!_

The horsehair brush was better suited to a man’s hair than her wild and winding locks, but Tierney was certain she could make do; she wrapped the sheet from the floor by the stove around her chest before picking up the tool by its wooden handle. She was lost in thought, tugging the knots from her tresses when the door swung open, and Thomas filled the doorway, his hands full of folded linen.

“Had to go picking through the ship’s stores, and I’m guessing these’ll need some cinching at the back to fit you, but they’re unclaimed and clean…”

Tierney spun on her heel and scuttled herself deep into the corner, a blazing blush pinking her skin from the roots of her hair to the hollow of her throat.

“What the _bloody fuck_ do you think you’re doing, you great boorish bastard?” she shrieked, clutching the thinly woven wool closed beneath her chin.

To his credit, Thomas took an abrupt and amused step backward, chagrined despite the rakish snicker that tumbled from his lips. “Soft, little redwing,” he extended the bundle towards her, “I was bringing you some clean clothes…”

“I’m _naked_ in here!” Tierney screeched again, stomping her foot.

“I’m aware, sweet,” he chortled, again brandishing the laundry her direction, “hence the need for clean clothes.” He shifted his grip so he could shake the garments out for her inspection, a forest green tunic with a modest collar and a pair of black wool breeches with laces at the waist and knees. “As I said, you’re a trim little thing and I’m all but certain these’ll be a bit too big. But I figure you’re a fair hand with a cinch and a knot, so I’m sure you can find some way to make do.” Tierney scowled at him from her retreat, her teeth all but bared in feline challenge as he lingered, his hands outstretched in offering. “Well? You gonna put them on? Or would you rather bundle all that lovely, clean skin back into this hideous heap?” he nudged her discarded outfit with the toe of his boot.

Cocking her head, Tierney fixed him with a withering blue glare. “How, exactly, am I supposed to put them on, Thomas?” Her fist tugged at the sheet clutched at her neck. “As _I_ said, I’m naked in here.”

“Oh, pretty Tierney,” Thomas cooed, his voice heavy with genuine affection. “How preciously modest you are.” He tossed the clothing in his hand to land at her feet. “I’ve no intention of standing here to gawp at you, sweet girl.” He dropped her a saucy little wink. “Besides, I doubt you’ve got anything under there I ain’t seen in a brothel before.”

For reasons she couldn’t begin to understand, his words hit her like a blow to the gut; Tierney had to swallow with mighty effort just to keep her supper in her stomach. All at once, all of the anger, all of the embarrassment, all of the indignation she’d held inside for days came simmering to the surface of her brain, and before she was fully aware, her mouth had curled into a deadly smirk.

“Well,” she purred, narrowing her icy blue eyes and fluttering her lashes, “in that case…”

Her delight at the shock that flooded his face when she let the sheet fall down and open around her shoulders, baring her body from the crest of her chin to the tips of her toes, was positively unparalleled. His own cerulean stare blew wide, his pupils expanding in inky seas of black. His jaw hung slack and his shoulders sagged, his fingertips twitching almost imperceptibly at his sides. Tierney shifted her weight from one foot to the other with a fluid roll of her hips, giggling just a little as the motion drew his scrutiny lower, and lower still. His gaze loitered briefly at the hollow of her throat; he drew in a deep breath as it traveled over her breasts, passed his tongue over his lips as it dipped to the tuft of curls below her navel.

_Cast your card, Captain,_ Tierney though with vicious pleasure, _let’s see what kind of gambler you_ really _are._

Almost as if he’d heard her, Thomas pushed himself from the doorway and into the head, moving one slow measured pace after another. His gaze was hooded and hungry, palpable waves of tension flowing from him to charge the air between them with sparks of lightning she could almost see. As quickly as it had come, her bravado abandoned her in a hasty rush of a single skipping heartbeat, but she lifted her chin in stalwart rebellion even as she pressed ever deeper into the corner. He stopped just shy of pinning her to the wall; a deep inhale from either of them would brush one body against the other. The cold, exposed blue of her eyes met the silent inferno in his, and she held her breath as his hands rose from where they’d dangled loose at his sides, catching the corners of the sheet, fisting it, and using its yolk to pull her to him.

_Thomas Hiddleston… please don’t hurt me._

Slowly, his stare never wavering from hers, Thomas pulled the drape of the linen back up over each creamy white shoulder, drawing it closed, and wrapping her snug within its cocoon. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and strode silently from the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him.

The storm outside was pattering against the windows when Tierney emerged from the bathroom dressed in the garments he’d brought, her long, wet hair bound in a tight and tidy braid. The only light left burning in the cabin was the lamp at Thomas’ bedside; it flickered golden on the bare skin of the well-muscled arm that held the blankets against the man lying beneath them. She crept to the other side of the bunk, tossing her own soiled clothing into the corner before slipping between the sheets herself. The stillness of the air was oppressive, squeezing her lungs like sponges and making it near impossible to breathe. At long last, she broke it, speaking softly around the thumbnail she’d worried to a pulp.

“Goodnight, Thomas.”

Her heart ached at the emptiness that followed, and she blinked against the bitter sting of tears as she tried to convince herself that the captain had already drifted off to sleep. If she had sniffled even a second before she did, she’d have missed it, a whisper just audible above the wind tossing the waves outside.

“Goodnight, Tierney.”

It turned out to be anything but. Every rumble of thunder, every flash of lightening, every crescendoing hiss of rain against the glass jerked her from her thin and fitful slumber, and she could tell from his near constant shifting and tossing that Thomas wasn’t resting easy, either. She broke their established pattern by rising before him, bundling herself into one of the canvas coveralls that hung beside the hatch before climbing the steps and turning her face up to the grey and weeping skies as Frost sounded six bells with a respectful nod her direction. Matthews knew her well enough to realize something was amiss, but one cold and silent stare across the breakfast table sealed his questions unasked behind his lips.

She moved through her duties with memorized meticulousness, refusing to start at the sound of the captain’s name hollered above the rain by one deckhand or another, resisting the urge to turn and find him with her eyes again and again and again. Every day she’d been working the decks she’d seen the practice and personality that had won him the loyalty of his crew - stepping into this chore or that one with sociable swagger and without second thoughts to make sure the ship ran smooth – and that day was no different. He moved about the storm-soaked men as easily as he ever had, his mischievous smile and mirthful laughter diminished but by no means disappeared.

Yet Tierney couldn’t shed the certainty that everything was now very different. And nothing made it so apparent as the small eternity she spent perched in her chair in Thomas’ cabin, staring silently out the window as she waited for him to appear, evening meal in hand.

When the seven o’clock chimes sounded with no captain in sight, Tierney hauled herself from her seat to trudge wearily to the mess. There, at the table she and Matthews frequented for breakfast and lunch on the far side of the room, Thomas sat slouched over his rations, leaning heavily on one elbow. His expression brightened at the sight of her, and he waved a beckoning hand. But his smile was tight and drawn over his teeth, and the dish before him was almost as untouched as the one that was waiting for her.

She sank into the space on the bench at his side, offered polite little grins and nods to the boisterous company as she pushed her food about her plate. She nibbled on a carrot here and there, drank deeply from her cup as one by one the mates around her bid their goodnights. Matthews departing last after his narrowed, inquisitive stare was met with a weary shake of her head. Alone with Thomas, she continued to pick at her food, decimating her wedge of cheese pinch after absent-minded pinch until the nudge of his shoulder against hers turned her face up to his.

“Not hungry?” his tone was thin but gentle, his lips pressed so tight they were all but invisible within the nest of his moustache and beard. She cast her eyes back to the table, shaking her head once more. “Well, come along then, little redwing,” he shifted a bit, turning his body towards her with a tiny grin. “I’ve a present for you.”

A shiver of anticipation set her every hair on end, and she couldn’t stop the curious quirk of her mouth and brow. “A present? For me?”

Thomas nodded, rising from the bench and gesturing in front of him. Tierney pushed herself to her feet, and straightening the cuffs of her shirt, she blew back the stray locks that had fallen over her forehead. She headed for the hatch with Thomas at her back, tipping a friendly wink of good evening to Conall as he wiped down his butcher’s block.

Thomas stepped around her to descend below decks first, leading her aft with naught but a silent smile. Tierney was so lost in her own mind, speculating as to what Thomas could possibly offer as a gift, that she collided with him when he stopped, several yards of corridor left between where they stood and the door to his rooms.

“Jesus, Thomas,” she gasped, biting her lip at the brief heat of his hand on her arm as she righted herself.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, his eyes searching her face as he looked down at her.

She bore his gaze with effort, all at once certain that, whatever he might be planning to give her, she didn’t want it. She was considering saying so, but he spoke first, a small, hopeful light peeking out from between his lashes.

“Right then.” His hand dipped into his pocket and emerged holding a small key. He slid it into the lock of the door at her right, twisting it and the knob together. “Here we are.”

The door swung open on a small but stately bedroom, modestly dressed with a fair-sized porthole gazing out on the darkening night. Thomas’ hand at the small of her back ushered her into the room where she stood, alien and uncertain, blinking up at him with a growing sense of anguish rising in her chest.

“Thomas?”

Again, that tightly drawn smile that seemed anything but at home on his handsome face. “The quartermaster’s cabin,” he explained. “Hennessey’s got no use for it anymore… offers a fair amount of privacy…”

As he spoke, Tierney’s eyes began to crawl around the room, feeling her heart sink into her stomach as bile filled her throat. Her soiled outfit lay folded next to an empty pail and a bar of soap beneath a drying bar screwed into the wall. Her empty scabbard was draped across the small bedside table. And Thomas’ copy of **_Don Quixote_** lay in the center of the bed, the scrap of silk she’d been using as a marker still tucked between the pages.

“You…” She shook her head briefly, the tail of her braid tickling below the waist of her trousers. “You want me to bunk here from now on?”

Thomas’ chest rose in authority as he inhaled slowly. “You and Matthews, you’ve been with us near a fortnight now. You’ve been given run of my ship. You’ve respected my men and my command, even if you’re not fair settled with the spirit behind them. You’ve brought no violence to bear, you’ve made no attempts at escape… in truth…” he ran a hand through his gingery curls, “Bronny runs better with you on her back than she did without.” He gestured around the room. “I’ve fair few ways to show you my gratitude, love. The least I can do is give you the honor of a place and space to call your own.”

Tierney felt her lip trembling, bit down against it.

_I don’t want it._

“Place of my own, eh?” She managed a wry little sneer. “A floor I can walk without trippin’ over those beasts you call boots? A bed I can rest in without doing battle for the blankets? A fair night’s sleep without some great goose hooting and honking behind me?” She narrowed her gaze at his warm roll of laughter as she realized exactly how much there was of him to miss, even just a hallway away. “Room and board you’re making me earn for myself and I’m supposed to take this…” she swept her arm in a gesture of contempt, “broom closet as a spoil of honor?” She rocked back on her heels. “I’d best tone it down a bit, ‘afore you honor me with a dinghy of my own to command. Tell me, Thomas,” her eyes flashed fire, “would ye be so kind as to tether me aft to bump along in your wake, or would you _honor me_ with oars to row myself?”

“Ah, Tierney,” Thomas’ features softened as his hand reached out to chuck her beneath the chin, “I said you owed the _Bronwyn_ a debt. I never said you couldn’t be comfortable while you paid it.”

“Well, then,” Tierney jerked away from his tender touch, “you ought to know that I’m never so comfortable as I am with steel at my hip. So if my ease is your objective, perhaps you should start there.”

“Fiery little redwing,” the pirate stepped closer, invading her space with a smile as she stubbornly held her ground, “if we two are to meet over metal, I think it’s wise we start smaller than that.” He caught her wrist before she could pull away; prying her hand open with his long, strong fingers, he pressed the small brass key into her palm.

Tierney’s jaw clenched into a teeth-grinding line as he stared down at her, his eyes churning with stormy challenge. She could feel the heat of his skin blazing through hers as his thumb anchored her in his grip, pulling at her ever so slightly before letting her go. She curled her hand into a fist, feeling the tiny metal prongs biting into her flesh, recoiling from him as if she’d been burned. A fleeting shadow dusted over his face and he swallowed with effort…

_See that? See there? What is that… what the fuck’s this all about? You want me, Thomas, I_ know _you do! Why are you doing this, why?_

… before his shoulders squared once more, his small, mischievous grin curling his lips. If he sensed at all the typhoon tossing her senses behind her brow he gave no sign, dropping her a final wink before spinning to head for the door.

_Oh, you want me to say it first, do you? To blather and beg and plead for your tender mercies? Never, Thomas Hiddleston, d’you hear me? Never while I draw breath!_

He stepped into the hallway, one hand on the knob. “Sleep well, little redwing.”

Tierney lifted her nose into the air, planted her fisted hands on her hips.

_Don’t go, Thomas. Please… don’t go…_

“Goodnight, Thomas.”

The door shut with a quiet click.

Tierney crossed to the chest of drawers with a watery sigh, dropping the brass key that would lock the door onto the dresser top before leaning against it to stare into the mirror mounted just above. The eyes that stared back at her were red-rimmed and wet, fire and ice colliding in a silent tantrum that sent hot shots of pain spearing back into her brain.

“Good,” she whispered o herself, snatching up the end of her braid and jerking the leather lace from the tail. “Finally. At last.” She began to unwind the strands with angry flicks of her fingers, hissing now and again when she tugged at her own scalp. “Shed of him and all his cockery. Arrogant bastard.” She stomped across the room to fling herself down on the bed, kicking her boots off with enough force to send them bouncing from the opposite wall before hurling herself into the pillow.

_I will not cry, I will not cry! Not one blasted tear!_

She spent a few minutes fuming into the goose down, blinking back the burning salt. Her heartbeat slowed to a dull hammering, the churning in her stomach began to ebb. She reached for the lantern on the bedside table, doused the wick with a twist of her fingers. But no sooner had she closed her eyes, when there he was, as always of late. Long and lean, unapologetic, inviting. The impish sparkle in his eyes, the embers flashing in his curls, the silky softness of his moustache and beard. The rakish quirk in the bow of his mouth, the strength that rolled through every sinewy slope, every sculpted plane. The warmth in his voice. The fire in his touch.

_Toss and turn here or toss and turn there… you ain’t sleepin’ tonight, girl, and you bloody well know it._

Sitting up in the dark, Tierney breathed a shuddery exhale, planted her feet on the floor. Rising on knees as watery as the ocean beneath her, she crossed to the door, pulled it slowly ajar, and stepped out into the corridor.


	5. Chapter 5

The worn, heavy wood was warm and smooth beneath her bare feet, swallowing her steps as she crept down the hall. The lanterns mounted on the walls had all been snuffed awhile, but the acrid scent of their oil-soaked wicks still tickled its way into her nostrils. The only light in the narrow corridor was the muted yellow glow of the midnight moon spilling through the aft hatch; she froze briefly in her tracks, hands fisted at her sides, when it was broken by the shadows of men passing by on the decks above. She listened to their mingled voices – Conall, Angus, Matthews – and bit the insides of her cheeks against her smile at the friendly, sloshing sounds of a liquor bottle changing hands. She waited until the steady glow returned, until she heard the creak of the planks over her head heralding their steps towards the bow, then slowly resumed her measured pace.

The entrance to the anteroom was open; she lingered in the archway a moment, chewing a fingernail in contemplation as she stared at the closed chamber door beyond.

_What are you doing here, you daft little idiot? He tucked you away in that room down the hall for a reason, you know. To get you out of here, away from him! Why would you come back and beg dismissal again?_

She ran her tongue absently over her lower lip as she cast her mind back to Thomas’ face as he stood in the doorway of the quartermaster’s cabin, his eyes locked on hers as he placed the key in her hand, a hot, rolling storm brewing in their crystal blue depths. Her palm still burned from the weight of his thumb that pressed the tarnished brass against her skin, and she swore once again that the gentle tug she’d felt before he released her at last was not her imagination. The tension in his shoulders as he’d turned and taken his leave had roiled off of him in waves that nudged her back as surely as those that gently pitched the ship beneath them; she still felt their bulk draped over her head, dragging her down lower with each moment that passed. Carrying her burden with every step, she crossed the room, lifted her fist to the sturdy oak.

_Pointless, really. He’s probably asleep._

Taking a deep breath, she rapped her knuckles against the wood. From the other side, a creak she’d become all too familiar with, a rustle of linen.

“Come…”

The word was clear, unmuddled, and curious. Swallowing the rusty knife in her throat, she twisted the knob in her hand, and pushed forward.

He was sitting on the bed, his back against the wall, a handsome leather volume closed around one finger. Bare-chested above his britches, he was golden in the lamplight, eyes perfect sapphires blazing beneath the copper fire of his curls. His thin, rosy lips curled in the smallest of smiles nearly hidden by the silky scruff surrounding them, and his tone was warm, if more than a little incredulous.

“Tierney? Something wrong, little redwing?”

She shrugged, trying to keep the hard, defensive edge out of her voice. “C-can I come in?”

The captain shifted a bit against the mattress, resettling his grip on his book so as not to lose his place. “Of course you can,” his free hand quirked two fingers in a kind come-hither.

It took a moment of toeing the floor before she was actually successful in moving one foot in front of the other, but Tierney eventually made her way into the room, closing the door behind her. The suite was tidy as always, the only flaw the one missing tumbler that usually flanked the crystal decanter on the table. It perched on the pirate’s nightstand, the smallest traces of amber puddled in the bowl. Her stomach took a melancholy twist at the sight of its empty and sparkling twin, and she was glad of the protective curtain of her hair as she ducked her head with a silent sigh. She could feel the welcome weight of Thomas’ stare as she wandered to the bookshelf; she took her time running her fingers along the spines of his collection, until his velvety chuckle sent a flurry of goosebumps flocking over her arms, up the back of her neck.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Your fault, really,” the words were spilling unbidden from her mouth before she was aware. “Gotten so used to the sound of you running that great gob of yours all evening ‘afore bed, seems now I can’t settle without it.”

Thomas’ chuckle erupted into a full-bodied laugh, his head falling back on his neck, his eyes squeezing shut in crinkles of delight. Tierney sucked in her own smile, watching the poetic motion of ligaments and sinew shifting beneath the skin of his throat, of muscle and tendon flexing and rolling in his chest and stomach. His irises were twinkling when his lids parted once more, and one long, strong hand patted the mattress beside him. “Sit, saucy brat,” he urged, “we’ll chat awhile.”

“ _You’ll_ chat awhile,” Tierney teased in a manufactured morose manner as she plodded across the floor with feet far lighter than she was willing to let on. “I’ll listen.” She met his crooked eyebrow with one of her own as she sat down upon the bed above the covers, her back coming to rest against the footboard, her legs stretched out before her. She propped her feet on the pillow she’d previously used to support her head, and Thomas rolled his eyes a bit at the cocky cross of her ankles.

“What’s that you’re reading?” she queried.

“This?” Thomas gestured proudly at the manuscript in his lap, “is the man-made magic of the English language, my dear.”

“William,” Tierney squinted at the script on the cover, “Shakespeare?”

Thomas nodded. “Mmm-hmm. Playwright and poet, head and heart. His works are a wonder... don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him…”

Tierney tilted her chin in consideration. “He wrote the one with all the fairies, yes? Flittin’ through the woods and messing about with people’s heads?”

“ ** _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_** , that,” Thomas confirmed with a nod. “Brilliant.”

Tierney’s indulgent hum of affirmation implied she wasn’t so sure. “Is that what you’re reading now?”

“Oh, no,” the light from the lantern flickered in his curls as he shook his head. “This collection is his poetry.”

Tierney furrowed her brow. “You’re… sitting here in your berth… alone… reading poems?”

Thomas’ unapologetic and unembarrassed grin was dazzling. “Sonnets, they’re called.”

She pursed her lips, then gave a tiny sniff. “All right then. Give us one.”

The childlike excitement that flittered across his features was gone so quickly she couldn’t be certain it was ever there at all, but he sat a bit straighter, wet his lips with a quick flicker of his tongue. He lifted the book and opened it once more, letting it rest against his thighs as he cleared his throat.

“ _When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings._ ”

Silence hung soft and sweet in the air when his voice at last drifted off, his expression one of serene satisfaction. Tierney could feel the low bubbling of her blood in the cauldron of her belly, warm, pink tendrils of desire floating up through her body above like steam, red hot coils of need dripping down through her muscles and nerves below. She held his gaze as long as she could bear it, until she was all but certain the words screaming inside her brain were etched as clearly across her face as the words he’d just read from the page.

_Touch me, Thomas, please. I beg you. Touch me… take me… plunder me whole. Let me feel you, taste you, break beneath you. Please…_

The blade that had battered its way into her throat before resurfaced with a scraping agony.

_Seduce him, girl. Can’t be that hard. He’s a breathing man on a ship at sea, his needle will point true as any compass; all’s you have to do is show him North. You want him so badly? Seduce the man._

She wanted to reach for him, but her arms were suddenly leaden weight with numb, stupid fingers plucking the linens at her side. She wanted to lean toward him in offering, but her body seemed lashed to the post at her back. More than all that, she wanted to lift her eyes to his and let him read her need as easily as he would one of his books. But she couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his confusion, his disinterest, his dismissal staring back at her in reply.

_I don’t know how._

A moment passed, and then another. Thomas slid the volume from his lap, lay it on his bedside table. Tierney bit at her lip, twisted one finger in an errant thread that had popped from the blanket as he rose to his feet, closed her eyes against the breakers of anticipation that crashed behind her brow as he rounded the bed to stand at her side. His open palm nudged past the locks of heavy auburn that hid her gaze from his, and his voice was soft and soothing when he spoke again at last.

“Time for bed, little redwing. May I have the honor of escorting you to your cabin?”

Tierney let her lids slide shut in defeat, gave a tiny nod before slipping her fingers into his hand, allowing him to help her to rise. Swallowing against her misery, she squared her shoulders and stared straight ahead, absurdly counting the downy strands of hair that dusted his skin between his nipples. Finally, moving on instinct alone, she leaned forward, closing the small distance between them and pressing her mouth to the curve of muscle just above his heart.

His entire body hitched at the contact, and she could feel the surge of crackling connection tickle its way from his flesh to hers. He was the salt of the sea against her lips and the musk of balmy wind in her nostrils. The shudder of his exhale washed over her like a welcome tide, and then his hands were in her hair, curling into careful fists that forced her face to tilt to his. His eyes were unreadable, thunderheads hiding sun or storm with no hints as to which would break the veil; his jaw was set in a certain line. And then, the husky rumble of his voice.

“Ask me, Tierney…”

Her hands fluttered to catch his arms at the elbows, she rose on tiptoe so he could taste her reply.

“Please, Thomas…”

The world was naught but heat and heartbeat as his mouth closed over hers, the silky sweet tickle of his moustache below her nose, of his beard against her chin. His grip in her hair pulled her head back to a more obliging angle, his tongue a slippery caress against the seam of her lips. She parted them for him, moaning softly as the flavors of brandy and mango and his own unique masculine essence flooded her palate. Her touch danced tentatively up the firm muscles of his arms, and as her fingers found their way into the curls that covered the nape of his neck, he released her, only to sweep her up into his embrace.   His smile was blazing triumph as he nuzzled his nose against hers.

“Tierney,” he whispered into her cheek, nipped playfully at her earlobe. “My pretty little redwing.”

“Thomas…” her voice was plaintive, nearly to the point of pain, and he soothed her as he lowered her body to the bed.

“Shhhh, sweet girl,” he spread her across the mattress with languid grace. She slid her hand along his jaw, the heel coming to rest against his chin, her fingertips stroking curiously through the hair on his upper lip. He growled against her palm, bit at her carefully with strong, even teeth. “Trust your captain.”

She nodded, and with another lingering kiss to her lips, he moved to kneel between her legs.

Lying on her back, Tierney followed his gaze down over her form, gasping a bit at what she saw. The blouse of her tunic was caught beneath her, pulling the material taut across her breasts. Each ample curve was swelling and straining at the barrier, every detail of their hard and pebbled peaks on proud display. The sound that burst from her lips when Thomas caught them in his hands, squeezing and teasing his thumbs around their tips was alien to her ears, low and needy and acutely feminine. She arched into his palms with a hitching sob, inhaled in sharp relief when he fisted the material and tore it easily down the front, the purr of parting strands vibrating deep within her belly.

“Oh, Jesus… Tierney…”

His ragged rasp made her struggle up onto her elbows, dropping her eyes to her chest in dismay. “Thomas?” She struggled to keep the tremor out of her voice as she scrutinized the pale skin that covered each rising swell, the flushed red hue of her areolas, the perked rounds of her nipples. “What’s wrong?”

His surprised, affectionate chuckle broke over her like a summer rain. “Wrong?” He traced his fingers over and around her excited flesh, making her shiver and squirm beneath him. “Beautiful little bird,” he cooed before leaning down to catch one blushing bud between his lips, “naught could be more right.”

“Oh!” Tierney pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, biting against one knuckle at the sensual tug his suckling sent flowing through her, surprised and fascinated by the responding pull of the muscle and sinew between her legs. She could feel his hand sliding down to caress her hip, shifting her ever so slightly so he could press the broad, hard plane of his thigh against that very spot so suddenly and achingly alive. Her body surged and rolled against him, white stars of revelation exploding across her field of vision, and the hand over her mouth clenched into a fist as her maiden modesty froze her still, her blood rushing to flush the surface of her skin. “ _Ohhh!”_

“Oh, little redwing,” Thomas chortled into her cleavage. “Best let go of all that.” He sealed his lips against the sideswell of her left breast, sucking a small nip of ivory skin to a fiery red. “You start trying to hold back now and you’re in for a very long night indeed…”

She wasn’t certain if it was her bred belligerence or candid curiosity, but once again, her voice was speaking without full consent of her brain. “And if I don’t?”

The pirate grinned up at her before rising to hover his mouth over hers. “You’re in for an even _longer_ one.”

It only took the beat of a heart for her expression to match his own. “Thomas William Hiddleston,” half purr, half plea, “do your worst...”

His lips crashed into hers once more, kisses more explosive than cannon fire, his arms sliding under her to pull her up into his lap. Tierney struggled to free her arms from the tatters of her shirt, her efforts hindered here and there by the hot, greedy hunger of his teeth nipping at her throat, his tongue laving at her breasts. His whiskers tickled and burned her unexplored flesh in equal measure, his warm breath balm to soothe the sting. His fingers clutched at the bare landscape of her back beneath her hair as she wound her legs around his waist, found her balance astride his thighs. Only then did one strong arm snake up the line of her spine, his hand holding her firmly at the back of her neck. The other slipped between them, and as he fumbled the buttons of her breeches from their holes, she began to tremble. “Thomas…”

“Shhhh, little redwing,” his mouth close to her ear, his voice drowning her brain in a thick wave of molten honey. “Trust your captain.”

The cool evening air dusted briefly through the curls below her navel, replaced slow and sure by the heat of his hand sliding down between her legs. His fingertips brushed over the sensitive nub of nerves hidden just below the crest of her pelvis; a tiny squeal skipped from deep within her chest as her body jerked in response, trying at once to push closer for more and pull away for relief.

“Tierney… relax…” his mouth painted moist trails of heat down the line of her throat, his teeth sinking tenderly into her skin as he spread her lips, allowing the little bud to swell and harden before catching it gently between his fingers. The exquisite ache his touch sent rocketing through her made her arch and buck against him, and he buried his face between her breasts as he continued to stroke, sure and steady. Her hands hooked over his shoulders as her head fell back on her neck, the world careening upside down before she closed her eyes. His rhythm never faltered, tickle and tease and taste, his ministrations painting a blazing sunset of burning red and brilliant gold inside her lids as her jaw hung slack, her breath escaping her in humid little huffs of bewildered awe.

It wasn’t long at all before the lazy, erotic throb took on an urgent edge, pressure rising hard and fast behind a dam pushed to its very limits. Tierney swallowed weakly against the desert of her mouth, her hair dancing against the mattress beneath them as she tossed her head from side to side. “Thomas… oh, God… Thomas…”

All at once, the hand at the base of her skull closed into a fist at her scalp, and her eyes popped open to lock with his as he pulled her upright once more. His forehead pressed against hers, his jaw set with a firm resolve she’d not seen in his playful features since she’d stood at the receiving end of his steel.

“Yes, little redwing,” his rough, ravenous whisper gusted against her lips, “give way for me now… that’s it…” His fingers between her legs moved faster, twisting and tugging with careful but unarguable determination. “Come on, Tierney. Come for your captain…”

The command unlocked the last of the tension coiling behind her navel; it unfurled in a blanket of a thousand sparking shooting stars that raced through every vein and vessel, leaving trails of scorching satisfaction in their wake. Thomas’ lips sealed hungrily over hers as she screamed his name into his lungs; he ate up each and every shriek and sob as she thrust herself into his touch, her nails dragging scarlet furrows into the skin of his back.

He was lying atop her when she gasped and groped her way back to some semblance of reason, the tip of his tongue playing gently between her panting lips. She craned up instinctively to draw it deeper, her fingers curling into the ginger silk of his hair. He indulged her in long, languid kisses that left her dizzy, dazed, before rising up again to bathe her in the adoring glow of his rakish grin. She smiled shyly, brushed the pad of her thumb through the scruff of his chin.

“Sweet girl,” he smoothed the sweat-dampened tousle of her hair back from her face, “by your leave…” His words trailed off as he curled his fingers in the waist of her trousers; he waited for her timid nod before tugging them down her thighs, lifting her legs so he could sweep them up and off before casting them to the floor. His palms ghosted slowly along the curve of her calves, catching her behind her knees before leaning in for one more taste of her tongue. But then he was retreating, slithering down her body like an impish asp despite her reaching, grasping hands.

“Thomas?” she whined, off balance and uncertain. “Where are you going?”

The cock of his brow was irresistibly arrogant, and she yelped at the brisk little bite he delivered to the ridge of creamy skin just above her downy thicket of copper curls. “In search of buried treasure, love.” She could feel his fingers probing at the slick and slippery folds of her sex, spreading them gently open. “Starting with this sweet little pearl right here.”

“Thomas,” Tierney struggled up onto her elbows to glare down at him. “What on earth are you – oh… oh, _Thomas_ … oh, _my God…”_

All of her flash and fire evaporated at the first tickle of his tongue against the curve of her clitoris; she collapsed boneless to the mattress as he suckled it carefully between his lips. Her hands fisted the linens at her sides, the muscles of her legs quivering as he hummed in amused satisfaction. Her back bent into a taut bow as he released her with an audible pop, an incoherent mewl of delight bubbling from her throat as his tongue flickered and fluttered over and around, up and down.

“Little redwing,” he groaned, lapping hungrily at the fluid that had begun to drip from the cleft between her legs, “what a delicacy you are…”

Tierney’s fingers clawed their way over her stomach, seeking purchase in his hair. Yet once she’d found it, the scrambled signals from her storm-tossed brain rendered her helpless, uncertain whether she’d meant to pull him closer or push him away. Her teeth sank into her lip until she could taste the metallic spark of her own blood, the colors of the room spiraling and swirling a merry kaleidoscope before her eyes. And just as she was certain there was no more pleasure left to her in the world, Thomas’ long middle finger breached the tightly constricted entrance of her cunt, unhinging her jaw and pushing a silent scream from her lungs.

“There’s a good girl,” Thomas’ tongue darted out to lick her glistening arousal from his lips as he probed deeper, curling the digit inside her as she writhed mindlessly against it. “Such a tight little treasure you are, love, so warm and wet.” Thrust and tug, thrust and tug, he stretched her gently, patiently, until the sharp hitch of her hips told him she was ready for more. Withdrawing at a measured clip, he sucked her sweetness from his finger before sliding it into her again, adding a second to fill and fondle her even more. “Oh, Tierney,” he growled approvingly, pressing a kiss to her throbbing clit as her body rocked in tandem with his touch. “Fucking glorious, you are.”

“Please, Thomas, please,” she babbled, unrestrained and unashamed, nudging her pelvis towards the heat of his mouth. Her fingernails scrabbled against his scalp as innocent need and wanton desire collided inside her, churning her blood into a roiling storm. The curl of his fingertips against one particularly receptive spot just beyond her entrance made her mewl like a kitten, and she collapsed in surrender as his smirk disappeared between her dripping folds once more.

He coaxed another climax from her with expert ease, his urgent, undulating strokes drawing more and more of the nectar from within her to coat his lips and tongue as the embrace of her legs closed tight around him. Tierney’s head thrashed to and fro on her pillow, the errant waves of her torch-hued hair tickling across her brow, her cheeks, her lips. She was still incoherent in the eye of their sensual storm when Thomas’ damp fingers dragged the strands aside, when his strong, demanding thumbs prodded at her chin. Her mouth fell obediently open, and he filled it with his tongue, gifting her with the mingled flavors of his lust and her own lingering essence. His breath was hot and humid when he broke the kiss, fisting her hair to force her to meet his eye.

“Ask me, Tierney,” he repeated in a growl, his blue eyes now nearly completely black with yearning.

She’d heard at least a dozen euphemisms in her lifetime to describe what he wanted from her, what she wanted from him. They’d all fled at the first touch of his lips to her skin, the first pull of his hands in her hair. Only one word was left her, and it tumbled from her lips with desperate ease. “Please, Thomas. Please, please, _please…_ ”

His gratified grunt brought every hair on her body to stand at attention; she whimpered at the cool bite of the evening air as he sat up above her, taking his warmth with him. His gaze dropped to the cradle between her hips as he pushed his trousers down, then off, the sight of him flooding her mouth with ravenous hunger.

His cock was fully erect, swollen and straining, its glistening rosy head brushing the taut muscles of his stomach. As he had that night on his private balcony, Thomas wrapped his fingers around the thickness of his shaft, just above the silky curls that dusted the root. He squeezed gently as he gave himself a languid tug, and Tierney licked her lips instinctively when one shining drop of milky white filled the slit in the center of his crown. He caught it with his thumb, brought it to her mouth; she shivered at the musky tang that spread across her tongue.

His smile was sweet but strained as he grasped his length once more, and Tierney moaned at the scorch of his skin as he pressed himself against the seam of her sex. He rocked forward, then back, then forward again, until he was bathed in her fluids and she was squirming beneath him, all but frantic for the promised plunge. Lowering himself until they were forehead to forehead and nose to nose, he shushed her with a quiet breath hissed through his teeth until her eyes were open and clear and focused on his. Then, with quirk of his brow and a kiss from his lips, his hand guided, his hips rolled, and he watched revelation explode across her features as he made them one.

“Thomas!” she cried out, her fingers scrabbling at his arms, over and across his back. “Oh, blessed Christ… _Thomas_!”

“Soft, little redwing,” he chuckled into her mouth. “The surge is only rising.” His grip slipped easily into her locks as he nudged his way carefully past the barrier inside her, taking the small sip of pain gasped from her mouth with a flicker of his tongue. “Give me the helm, Tierney,” he availed in a rasping tone full of calm command. “Ride the swells,” another thrust, deeper still, and she threw her head back on her neck; he nibbled and nipped his way along the pale landscape to the hollow of her ear. “Trust your captain.”

“Thomas,” she sobbed sweetly, turning her face to his, “I trust you.”

And then they were lost as the storm surge broke, the waves their bodies meeting again and again, the wind their hot and heaving breath, the rain the perspiration that fell from Thomas’ brow to wet her luminous skin in diamond drops. Thunder crashed in every slap of skin against skin, lightning flashed in the oceans of their eyes as each watched the other in wanton fascination. Far too soon, and not nearly soon enough, Tierney could sense the tide cresting within him – she could see it in the cadenced tense and slack of his jaw, hear it in the ever-intensifying grunts of his exhales, could feel it in the barely restrained dive and retreat of his cock inside her. Her head was swimming in warm, violet waters, her breasts were heavy with a delicious ache, and the slick, shivering muscles that milked his shaft were cramping and tightening in anticipation of an explosion she was somehow certain would leave the others he’d sparked all but forgotten. She lifted a hand to caress his jaw, her fingertips finding their way into the silky strands of his beard.

“Thomas…”

His smile was brilliant, his whisper breathless. “Tierney…”

His grip left her hair, slid down the slope of her back to clasp her hips. She lifted her body from the bed, arched her pelvis in offering. As his fingers dug into her flesh, as his mouth ate greedily at hers, as his body pumped harder and harder still, oblivion opened within her, and he erupted, hot and thick, to fill it. His curses were savory against her lips, and she swallowed them down between sobs of her own. Heave after mighty lingering heave, and then he crumpled into her embrace, his face buried in the damp, fragrant flesh of her neck. Suddenly, the cabin was awash with a balmy, tranquil quiet broken only by his shuddering sighs and her precious little purrs.

She’d imagined his weight would be suffocating, that she would want him off her as quickly as he could muster the strength to roll to his own side of the mattress. Instead, she found herself curiously comforted by the bulk of his body pressing down upon hers, so much so that her arms tightened around him when his head lifted at last.

“Pretty little redwing,” his smile was sleepy but serious, “did I hurt you at all?”

“No,” she assured him with a shake of her head, eagerly craning her neck as he leaned to kiss her once more.

“Good,” he hummed, brushing the tousled tresses back from her forehead, nuzzling his lips along her brow. It only took a moment for Tierney to realize he was tracing the path of the bruise that had faded from her face; the thought sent a warm and welcome flush through her belly. She played her fingertips along the ridges and rises of muscle and bone in his back as his mouth danced over her cheek, nuzzled her nose against his. “Think you could find your way to sleep now, sweet?” She nodded, unable to keep a shadow of sadness from settling over her features. “Tierney?” Thomas frowned, a crooked finger under her chin lifting her downcast eyes back to his own. “What is it?”

Beneath him, Tierney shrugged a little, suddenly feeling small and stupid. “I… I…” She searched his gaze for signs of impatience or scorn, found a bit of reassurance when she saw none. “Do you want me to go?”

Thomas’ expression clouded a bit more. “Go?”

Tierney heaved an exasperated sigh. “Do you want me to go sleep in that other bed, in that other cabin?” The infuriating twinkle she’d become so familiar with returned to his cerulean eyes, and for a brief moment, she had to fight the urge to smash her fist into his teeth.

“Do you want to go sleep in that other bed in that other cabin?” His voice was even and steady, his neutral tone belied by the tease in the crook of his brow and the curl of his lip.

A sudden burn of acidic pride surged up from her stomach, and it took all her strength to keep from shoving him aside and hurling herself from his berth to stomp, naked and angry, back to the bunk he’d offered her earlier. Only the thought of climbing between the dead man’s sheets alone, of curling around the pillow in search of Thomas’ heat and scent and finding neither, stopped her.

“No,” she admitted at last in a sullen whisper.

She felt the dazzling glow of his quiet smile before she saw it, just prior to his lips capturing hers in another possessive kiss.

“Good,” he murmured into her mouth. “At last, we agree on something.” Rolling onto his back and pulling her with him, he tugged the linens up over their bodies, tucking her into the crook of his arm. His fingers slipped under her hair to hold her gently at the nape of her neck, his beard tickling her brow as he yawned and settled into the pillow. “Comfy?”

Bewildered, blissful, she snuggled against him, bringing her ear to rest over the lullaby of his heart as she tangled her legs through his beneath the sheets. “I am.”

A final, feathery kiss to her forehead. “Good night, sweet Tierney.”

She was already adrift when the words left her lips.

“’Night, Captain.”


	6. Chapter 6

The ship’s bell was faint but clear as it rang out the five o’clock hour; Tierney was sighing at the sound before she even opened her eyes. The air in the cabin was warm, still heavy with the scent of damp hair and flushed skin, and she inhaled deeply before burrowing into her pillow. She shifted her body beneath the sheets, feeling it wake slowly to new delicious and unfamiliar aches – a subtle, stinging tickle vibrating through her nipples, a dull throb at each of her hips, and a lingering, sticky scorch between her thighs. She touched a fingertip to her swollen mouth, smiling against it before tracing it over the surrounding burn left by the scratchy softness of ginger whiskers.

_Thomas._

Her breath caught briefly in her chest as she cast her mind back to the previous night, to the storm that raged in the blue of his eyes and the fire that burned in his touch. She bit down briefly on her plump bottom lip, whimpering softly at the memory of his teeth tugging at that exact flesh in tenderly demanding desire. She could feel the tingle in her scalp where his hands in her hair had pulled her this way and that, the whispering twinges that radiated from the constellation of bruises his fingers had pressed into her flesh. Her palms itched to feel the silk of his curls grasped tightly within them, her tongue swelled in anticipation of tasting him again, and with a tiny giggle, she rolled from her one side to the other with a brazen toss of her torch-hued locks.

The sun had yet to peek its head over the horizon, but even in the early morning dim, she could see the other side of the bed was empty.

“Thomas?” Tierney propped herself up on her elbows, her ears perked and listening for sounds of him splashing water in the head, or rustling charts in the study. When none came, she sat up fully, holding the sheets against her chest and peering into the darkness beyond the bedroom door. “Thomas?” No reply, save for the silence within the walls and the gentle lapping of the waves beyond.

_Where the devil has he gone off to?_

She sank uncertainly back into the pillow, worrying the tip of her thumbnail between her teeth.

_He’s never risen this early. Not one morning, not the entire time you’ve been on this ship. So… why today?_

A flush began to creep from her chest to her throat, burning its way up to redden her cheeks, and she found herself blinking against a sudden sting of tears.

_Surely he’s not up to be shed of me. Not after…_

Her mind once again flooded with images of him above her, her body clenched at the memory of holding him inside her. She could still feel the moist, velvet heat of his mouth on her skin, the certain strength of his hands on her body, could still hear his hungry commands ringing in her ears.

_I thought… I… I thought…_

A muffled thud against the anteroom door jerked her to attention, her fingers clenching the knot of sheet between her breasts. Another thump, followed by a shuffling scrape and a muted curse muttered in his voice, and the doorknob turned, sending her scooting defensively back against the wall. The heavy panel swung inward, and her breath left her in a gust of relief as Thomas appeared in the doorway, the familiar and now very full wooden tray balanced precariously on one arm. His eyes brightened when they found hers, and he righted himself as quick as he could, kicking the doors closed behind him as he returned to the bedside.

“Good morning, lovely,” he purred as he placed the platter on the mattress, leaning over to light the wick in the lamp before settling back into his spot beside her.

“Morning,” she stammered, bewildered, her stomach growling appreciatively as her gaze wandered over the spread before her. “What’s all this?”

“I just thought,” Thomas shrugged, tearing a wedge of cheese from the small block he’d brought and tucking it into his mouth, “might be nice to greet the day with a bit of privacy.” He winked at her as he chewed with aplomb. “Don’t tell me you’re not hungry.”

Tierney exhaled through a smile. “Starving,” she admitted, reaching for a slice of pineapple, sucking the juice from her fingers before taking a sip of the strong black coffee he’d poured into her mug.

The two ate leisurely in a slightly uncomfortable silence as the first slices of golden sunlight began to spill through the windows, setting fire to the motes that danced on the air. Several times, Tierney opened her mouth, meaning to spark conversation with a clever quip or sharp-edged question, but when words failed and fled, she settled instead for filling the emptiness with the sweetness of the fruit or the salty bite of the pork. Thomas watched her every bite with a knowing grin, stroking his fingers over the scruff of his beard as her eyes met his, full of fiery challenge. Yet he never spoke either, simply reached for another morsel from his portion or another swallow from his cup.

By the time the plates were empty and their mugs drained dry, she was fair ready to crawl out of her skin. Fuming quietly as he tidied the tray, she waited for him to clear it from the bed before rolling to her side, her hand groping along the floor until her fingertips stuttered against the linen of her discarded tunic. She was fumbling along the torn seams, preparing to thrust her arms through the sleeves and hold the fabric closed in her fists when Thomas’ arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back against him with one swift and certain yank. She hiccupped in surprise as his other hand caught the tumble of her hair, dragging it aside to bare the curving slope of her shoulder and neck.

“You don’t need that yet,” his whisper was hot in the hollow of her ear, “do you, love?”

For one brief, brilliant moment, Tierney saw herself tugging free from his embrace, tossing her head in defiance as she covered the landscape he was suddenly so eager to explore. She could see the sag in his jaw, the smoky ashes of the doused fire in his eyes, the victorious swagger in the roll of her hips as she sauntered from his suite, slamming the door in her wake. But then one large hand slid up to carefully caress her throat, its twin slipping down to press gentle but firm against the awakening ache behind her navel. His mouth closed on the skin just beneath the corner of her jaw, slowly sucking warmth to the surface. And before she was aware, she was arching in his embrace, her fingers tangling in his curls as he caught her chin in the crook of his hand, guiding her lips to his.

“Thomas…” her voice half plea, half protest, swallowed entirely by the passion of his kiss. He turned her in his arms, pulling her body flush against his own, chuckling at the sudden urgent scrabbling of her hands over his back, tugging his own shirt up over his head.

“Oooh, little redwing,” he cooed, teasing, “how delightfully eager you are this morning…”

“Oh, shut up,” Tierney hissed, tossing the garment aside before stopping his words with a thrust of her tongue between his lips. Thomas caught it between his teeth, playful nips daring her to pull away, the rich warmth of his laughter echoing through the room when she refused. She was breathless when the kiss broke at last, one willowy arm sweeping back the heavy curtain of her hair as he reached for the buttons at his waist. She was moving to recline against her pillow once more as he slid his trousers down his legs when he shook his head, his expression full of impish authority as he caught her carefully by the elbow.

“Oh, no, bold and brave little bird,” he growled, drawing her back to sitting. “Time to try those wings of yours.”

“Thomas,” she whimpered, grasping his neck for balance as he guided her to straddle his hips, shivering at the heat of his engorged cock as it brushed against the swell of her stomach. “I – I can’t…”

“Tierney,” his voice was a velvet mixture of indulgence and insistence as he caught her face between his palms, tracing a thumb over her trembling lips, “you can.” Tilting her head back with a nudge of his wrists, he leaned forward, his moustache and beard tickling her flesh as he dipped a kiss to the hollow of her throat.

“N-n-no, I can’t,” she could feel the blush spilling from the roots of her hair, burning beneath the surface of her skin as he nibbled his way along her collarbone. A blossom of damp desire began to unfurl between her legs and she tensed every muscle in her thighs, rising stiff and uncertain from the cradle of his lap. “I – I – I’ve no idea what I’m doing…”

“Mmm,” his absent hum buzzed against the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. “You’ll learn.”

“Thomas,” she mewled petulantly, her grip white-knuckled against the back of his neck, “please. I can’t. I – I can’t… y-y-you don’t…” Her words dissolved into a tiny, desperate whine, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips caught the tender lobe and suckled hungrily. _Oh, God, that feels good…_

“Tierney,” his words seem to bubble up from the center of her brain, “you can, my sweet, you absolutely can. And you will.” His teeth scraped over the curving shell of cartilage as if to punctuate his point. Her trembling increased to a full body quiver as his hands caressed their way down her back, catching the fleshy curves of her hips and gripping firmly. She gasped in dismayed delight as he lifted her, pulled her closer, the rosy crown of his erection just grazing the aching petals of her sex. Only then did he let his head fall back on his neck, his gaze an ocean of clear and calm cerulean waves.

“Thomas,” the word was full of worried wonder as one small, strong hand released his neck, her palm skimming along the angle of his jaw until she could bury her fingers in the silky scruff that covered his chin. He leaned into her touch with quiet confidence, his lips brushing her fingertips as he spoke.

“Take the wheel, little redwing. Trust your captain.”

His gaze never broke from hers, not when she dipped her mouth to his to feel the breeze of his breath, nor when she invited his tongue to dance with hers in slow, shy little flickers. Finally, when she could no longer ignore the quaking of her limbs or the clenching emptiness deep inside her gut, Tierney clutched at the sure and solid set of his shoulders and, drawing in a double lungful of courage, slowly lowered her body onto his.

Their airy respires mingled, harmonized in the quiet stillness around them, sending ripples of goosebumps over every inch of Tierney’s skin. She held Thomas’ stare as long as she could manage, until the pain-pleasure twinge of his girth stretching her walls left her momentarily boneless, her head suddenly too heavy to hold upright. His hand glided up the graceful curve of her spine, cradling her, bringing her forehead to rest against his own.

“Steady, love,” he reassured her as her nails pressed crescent moons into his skin, as her lip began to tremble and her knees began to shake. “Close to the wind, easy on…” He nuzzled the tip of his nose against her cheek as she took the last of his length inside her, kissing away the single tear that slipped from her eye as her full weight came to rest against him. “There you are… beautiful girl...”

Tierney melted into his embrace, releasing her iron-clawed hold on his shoulders to wind her arms around his neck; his tongue was peeking out from his grin when she moved to cover his mouth with hers. They shared one long, deep breath, and then another, until the muttered nagging behind her navel bloomed into a cursing, cramping demand. Her expression tightened again, and again his voice rose to fill her sails, his palms strong and certain as they spanned her waist.

“The ship is yours, love. Take the helm,” he urged, his grip lifting her slightly as his hips rolled beneath her, “stem the tide.”

It took a moment, and a fair bit more of Thomas’ low, lusty encouragement. But as his mouth danced delicately along the lines of her throat, as her body shifted and surged over and around the delicious pressure of his cock inside her, Tierney closed her eyes, suddenly acutely aware of the rhythm of her own blood rushing in her ears. The current flowed from the spot where his flesh met hers, churning in waves that crashed stronger and stronger in the center of her chest, fluid fingers of heat pushing and pulling, dragging her down to the darkest depths before hauling her up once again, allowing her to break surface and bask, gasping and grinning in the glow of his approval.

The swells rose slowly, higher and higher, and they crested them together, his face buried in the valley between her breasts, her fingers tangled in the sweat-dampened curls at the base of his skull. And when her bearing abandoned her, washed away by the unforgiving whirlpool of sensation that ripped through her in the wake of her climax, his arms wrapped tightly around her, anchoring her to the bed beneath them, his ragged exhales cooling the damp skin above her hammering heart.

“Sweet Tierney,” he crooned softly, turning them both and lowering her to the pillow once more, “what a savvy little sailor you are, love.” He was just drawing one trembling thigh up over his hip when the bells chirped once more from above, followed by the reedy swoop of the boatswain’s whistle. He groaned briefly in genuine disappointment before offering her a rueful little grin. “If only I could hold the helm from this bed, eh?”

“If only…” she giggled, shivering girlishly beneath the warmth of his last lingering kiss.

“Well,” Thomas dragged his long fingers through his hair before pushing himself up from the berth. “Time and tide wait for no man,” his eyebrow cocked sternly as he held out a hand, “or woman.”

Tierney slipped her fingers into his palm, swinging her feet to the floor and rising to join him. He caught her as she teetered a bit, chuckling softly into her mouth as he easily supported her weight, swaying her gently in his arms.

“Easy there, little bird.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled shyly, “lost my legs a bit.” Her blue eyes misted briefly. “Never done this before.”

“Oh, lovely girl,” Thomas smoothed a palm down the curve of her back, “no need for sorry.” He dropped her a rakish nod. “I could get used to holding you like this.” He laughed again as she ducked her head, tugging affectionately on one curling crimson lock as she buried her face in his chest. “Who’d have ever pictured you the shy little sunflower…” His voice trailed off and the languid rocking stopped short; his color had paled a shade or two when Tierney lifted her gaze to his once more.

“Thomas?” she frowned in confusion. “What is it?” She followed the line of his stare, breathing a self-conscious “oh” at the sight of the small garden of blooming scarlet stains that dotted the sheet. At once, his large palms rose to cup her face, his eyes dark with concern.

“Tierney… love… are you all right?”

“Christ, Thomas,” she couldn’t contain the tiny scoff that bubbled from her chest, rolling her eyes as he carefully nudged her to sit once more, “I’m fine.”

“Are you certain?” the corners of his mouth hung heavy with doubt. “Perhaps you should lie in, take things a bit easy today…”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Thomas,” she tossed her head in proud affront. “I’m not injured.”

“I know that,” he snorted affectionately, “but only a fool of a captain takes bleeding on the water lightly…”

“Oh, pffft, I’ve been through worse,” she gave his high, proud forehead a gentle _thunk_ with the heel of her hand. “Did more damage with this the night we met, or have you forgotten?” She smiled gently as guilty roses bloomed in his cheeks, taking his hand in hers and guiding his fingers to a small, raised ridge of scar buried beneath her hair at the left corner of her skull. “Feel that?” she smirked as he nodded. “I was thirteen. Pulley line snapped and the rigging hook clipped me, neat as you please. Bled like stink, it did…”

“Brave little redwing,” Thomas leaned close to press a kiss to the spot, Tierney nuzzling into the hollow of his shoulder.

“Point is,” she continued when he was set back on his heels in front of her, “a quick heave of my lunch over the side, a scrap of bandage around my skull, and I was up and ready to get back on the line…”

His firm grip on her shoulders and narrowed stare cut her off. “Your father let you back on the line after taking a blow to the head from a seven kilo iron hook?”

“Well,” Tierney shrugged, biting down on her lip, “no. Made me hole up in my berth under watch for a night and a day.” Her eyes flashed as she puffed her chest. “Weren’t no need, though, is my point, I was fit as a fiddle once the bleeding stopped…”

“Mmm-hmm,” Thomas nodded indulgently, leaning close and forcing her back into the pillows.

“There’s this one here,” she ran a fingertip along a thin and knotty white line that stretched just above her right wrist. “Papa rapped me a good one when I got a bit too big for my breeches during fencing practice.” She beamed as he lifted her arm to dust his lips over that blemish as well. “Bled plenty, but I held on to my steel, I did.”

“Stubborn little sod you are, that’s for certain,” he affirmed warmly, sliding down to graze his beard over the pale and shining lightning bolt slashed into her hip. “And this one?”

“Eh,” Tierney dropped her gaze to her fingers, picking idly at one nail, “that one ain’t really interesting at all.”

Growling softly, Thomas sank his teeth into the curve of flesh, his hands holding her still as she giggled and fought to roll away. “I’m interested,” he purred low in his throat. “Tell me.”

“I was six,” she sniffed. “Papa just back from a run to the Spanish coast, needed a quick turnabout to be off to France. I thought if Lady Beatrice couldn’t catch me she couldn’t force me to ground…” she trailed off with a sheepish smirk. “Backed straight into Curtis’ best harpoon.”

“Oh, an even _littler_ little redwing,” Thomas chortled, crawling back up the bed to draw her into his arms once more. “What a sprite you must have been.”

“I was a beast,” Tierney corrected, “stem to stern.”

“I doubt it not,” he tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “Lady Beatrice,” he mused absently, “that’s the woman who looked after you while your father was on the water?”

She nodded, stroking her own fingertips through his beard. “She weren’t a real Lady, but she was proper enough. Drove her bats keepin’ me in one piece as long as she did, I’m sure.”

“Mmm,” he nipped playfully at her touch. “Not one for dolls and dresses even then, eh?”

“No sir, please and thank you!” Tierney scowled at the thought. “Life was just one long gray day after another in that gloomy old house. Morning dishes, chalk and tablet and _sit down_ and _be still!_ Learn to sew and prick my fingers, learn to cook and burn my hands. Everything was dirt and cobblestone and cold clay walls.” Her faraway look took on an edge of childlike excitement. “And then Papa’d bluster in, all big and burly and red as the sun as it set every night, with his treats and his tales of the ship and the sea and the world beyond the beach. He’d carry me down to the docks on his shoulders, toss me to Matthews at the top of the gangplank.” She paused to exhale a soft, longing sigh. “That’s when I was home, you know. The wood was warm and it spoke as it shifted, all these lovely little grunts and groans, talking to you as you walked the deck. The _Eagle_ was spray and salt and stars above you at night. She was sun that shone brighter, rain that smelled sweeter, food that tasted better…” She choked a bit, swallowed hard. “She was family.” She cast her eyes down, shrugged once again. “Can you blame me for being a brat when some grizzled old schoolmarm took my by the elbow and told me to leave it behind?”

Thomas’ palm was warm as he caressed her jaw, firm as he lifted her gaze to his once more. “No, little redwing,” he breathed as he guided her lips back to his, “I can’t blame you at all.”

The two were just melting into the warmth of the bed and one another when a sharp rap at the anteroom door jerked them both from their haze.

“Cap’n Hiddleston? Cap’n Hiddleston, sir, beggin’ a word if you please…”

“Matthews…” Tierney hissed softly between her teeth as Thomas offered her a teasing grin.

“The man does have timing, doesn’t he?” The brisk knocking swelled to a slightly more urgent pounding, and he sat upright, glancing around the floor. “Where the devil are my trousers?”

“Sod your trousers!” Tierney scrabbled through the linens in search of her tunic. “I need a bloody shirt’s not rent to shreds…”

“Cap’n Hiddleston!” Another series of heavy thuds, the brass knob rattling against the wood. “Pardon me, please, sir, but I must insist…”

“Persistent old goat,” Thomas muttered, tossing his shirt into her lap before thrusting his legs into his pants. “A moment, Mr. Matthews, if you please,” he barked casually over his shoulder as he pulled them up over his hips.

“I can’t wear this!” Tierney seethed, shaking the garment at him in one balled fist as his brow furrowed in disbelief.

“Wha – why not? You said you needed a shirt…”

“Not _your_ shirt!” she hurled it back at him impatiently. “He sees me in that, he’s going to _know_ …”

Another flurry of knocking, another taut inquiry. “Cap’n Hiddleston?”

“Just a moment, Matthews,” Thomas shouted before dropping his tone to a mutter, “for God’s sake, Tierney, he sees you in your all-together he’s going to know as well…”

_“Get rid of him!”_

_“I’m trying…”_

The sound of the knob turning in its cradle and the click of the bolt sliding back drained all color from her face, and as the door swung open, Tierney thrust herself down into the bed, dragging the sheet and blanket up over her head just as Matthews blew into the room.

“Cap’n Thomas,” he gulped as the pirate crossed his arms sternly over his bare chest, “ye must forgive my intrusion, sir, insubordinate as it is…”

“Damned insubordinate,” Thomas agreed, his tone more affectation than anger, stepping to the foot of the bed to meet the older man before he could cross any closer. “What’s this all about?”

The silver-haired sailor passed one hand over his scraggle of whiskers before dropping it to twist at the scrap of neckerchief held in the other. “It’s… it’s the little lady, sir. Miss Tierney… I can’t find her, sir.”

Beneath the linens, Tierney held her breath as she listened to the creak of Thomas moving his weight from one foot to the other.

“Can’t find her?”

“No, sir, and I don’t mind telling you, I’m not quite sure what to make of it,” Keoghan stammered a bit. “Beggin’ your pardon, but I was on the line with Frosty and Gus and they were talking, you see.…”

“Talking?” Thomas’ voice took on a thin, guarded edge.

“Yes, sir. Spoke about your plan to grant the little lady a cabin of her own.”

“Did they?” Tierney felt the bed shift as Thomas leaned his weight against it. “Continue, please.”

The click was audible as Matthews swallowed a mouthful of anxiety. “Well, you know, sir, maybe t’ain’t my place to say so, but… I b’lieve they’re good lads, sir, I do. And maybe it was all just piss and wind, guff the way mates tend to talk. But… see… they was joking, sir…”

“Joking?” Thomas stroked his fingers through his beard. “About what?”

“Well,” another miserable gulp, “meanin’ no offense, sir, but it ain’t exactly a secret, the men thinking maybe you had an eye for the girl yourself.” He paused beneath Thomas’ silent blue stare, puffing his chest just a bit before continuing. “But your notion of puttin’ her in a room of her own, given her a door she could lock against you as well as the rest, well… I guess that got some of the lads to thinkin’…”

Even inside her linen fortress, Tierney could feel the prickle in the air as Thomas answered. “Thinking what?”

Matthews bristled slightly, “Thinking the lass is up for grabs. Now, sir, I ain’t makin’ no accusations here. I already said I figured it was just bluster, just men blowin’ smoke. But she ain’t anywhere I can find on the ship, above decks or below…”

“Oh, come now, Mr. Matthews,” Thomas raked a hand through his curls, “I’m sure she’s about…”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but she ain’t…”

“And I can certainly appreciate your concern, but you can’t possibly have been _everywhere_ she could be…”

“Pretty damn close, sir…”

Thomas blew a gust of air through pursed lips. “How do you know she didn’t pass over above while you were down below? Or vice versa?”

“Cap’n Hiddleston, sir, I know it ain’t a pleasant thing to think about…”

“Did you bother to look up? Little redwing could be halfway up the mast, you’d never even know…”

“Thomas,” Matthews stepped toe to toe with the younger man, meeting his eye with steely focus. “I have to ask you, lad… do all your men have all your trust?”

Thomas raised his chin a defiant notch. “Step with care, Keoghan.”

Matthews met him with a square in his shoulders. “Tis a fair question, sir.”

“Such a suggestion not only impugns the honor of my men…” Thomas’ voice rose a dangerous hitch.

“Talkin’ about honor aboard a pirate vessel, are we?”

“… it calls into question _my_ judgement as captain and my pledge to any soul who sets foot on my ship…”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Tierney sat upright in a huff, one arm pushing her hair back from her face while the other hugged the bedsheets to her chest. “I’m right here!” She scowled at each man in turn as their blood rushed to fill their faces, as their eyes darted to look anywhere but where she sat.

“Tierney,” Matthews groaned, his hands fisting his bandana until the edges began to pop and fray. “For the love of… you hard-headed… impulsive… bleeding Jesus please us, girl, you are your father’s daughter.” He glanced up at Thomas’ slowly fading blush, backed away a step, then another. “Beggin’ your pardon, again, sir. I’d no idea I’d… I’d not expected that you’d… I didn’t think she… oh, fucking hell…”

“It’s quite all right, Matthews,” Thomas reassured him, bending to snag his tunic from where Tierney had thrown it to the foot of the bed. He pulled it over his head before clapping the older gent on the shoulder, gesturing towards the door. “Perhaps we should grant out little redwing some privacy to dress and head above to the work at hand, yes?”

Matthews dropped a stuttering nod. “As you command, sir,” he craned his neck to meet Tierney’s eyes once more, “if the lady is certain she’s all right?” Thomas swept an arm towards her, and the man scuttled to the bedside to scrutinize the young woman for himself. “You are all right, aren’t you, miss?” he narrowed his gaze.

“I’m just fine, thank you, Matthews,” she gritted through a clenched jaw as his stare bore into hers.

“Now, don’t you be takin’ that tone with me, ye smart little mick, not when I’m the one kept you kickin’ all these years,” he chided her roughly.

“Yes, you are,” Tierney smarmed, her cheeks burning. “You were also the one told me best make myself comfortable here.”

“I never said to make yourself _this_ comfortable…”

“Well, I’m decidedly _un_ comfortable,” Thomas announced with a grin, crossing the room to pluck a fresh shirt from his wardrobe. “So… Matthews… what say we shove off, eh?” He watched the pair stare one another down a moment longer, until Keoghan’s hand reached out to tuck a lock of Tierney’s hair behind her ear, until he saw her tilt her head into the paternal touch with a tiny little flash of a weary smile. He gave the old sailor a respectful nod as he headed for the door, chuckled wryly through a shake of his head as he returned to the bedside to place the garment in Tierney’s hand. “You’ll swim in it,” he bent to kiss her upturned lips, “but it’s clean, and it’ll cover you.” He smirked. “More’s the pity.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, closing her eyes as he nuzzled her forehead. “I’ll be up quick, I will.”

“Take your time, love,” he breathed, giving one blazing curl a tender tug. “We’ll save you a swab.”

“Oh, I just bet you will,” Tierney scoffed at his back as he swaggered out the door, pulling it closed on his hearty laughter.

The shirt was indeed too big, but a swiftly tied knot at the back provided a temporary remedy, and she couldn’t help but inhale the lingering scent of oaky musk from the fabric as she stepped into her breeches and cinched them shut. She pulled the soiled sheet from the mattress before hurrying from the room, scuttling down the blessedly empty corridor to the quartermaster’s cabin. She dropped it alongside her own dirty clothes before pulling on her boots and then, while tangling her hair into a long loose braid, caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the dresser.

The dark circles beneath her eyes had faded, the pinched and pale hue of her cheeks replaced by a soft and satisfied glowing pink. The blue in her eyes seemed brighter, her gingery lashes catching the light of the sun spilling through the porthole. Her lips were a dark and ruddy red, swollen to a pretty pout, with two tiny breaks in the skin where her teeth had set deep at the pinnacle of her pleasure. A small purple blossom decorated the tender flesh beneath her ear, and she couldn’t suppress the shuddery giggle that floated through her when she realized it was the shape of Thomas’ mouth on her skin.

She let her palms slide one leisurely pass down the front of her body, sighing softly at the teasing tingle that vibrated through her breasts and belly, pooling in a pleasant ache that throbbed lazily behind her navel. She narrowed her eyes at the pile of her belongings, visible over her shoulder; turning on her heel, she moved to collect them into her arms with a determined little huff.

The wash bucket and the soiled linens went in the corner of the bathroom, between the tub and the pot-bellied stove. Thomas’ copy of **_Don Quixote_** came to rest on the table between the bed and the bookshelf ( _my side?_ she grinned silently to herself), and she dipped into the cabinet below to fetch the small pot of oil, filling the little used lamp and setting the wick to soak. And finally, before heading for the hatch to join the men on the deck, she dropped the small brass key to the quartermaster’s cabin onto the closed cover of Shakespeare’s sonnets beside Thomas’ pillow.

The sun was a bright and beautiful glare above her head as she clambered her way up the stairs, squinting and smiling at the men whose names she now knew as well as her own. Schwartz greeted her with grunt and a nod, tossing her his half-eaten apple as he braided the last of a cable around the iron neck of a winch hook; she took a hearty bite of her own before pitching it back. Moments later, she was twenty feet in the air, legs wound through the rigging for balance as she threaded the line up and over the mast; she basked in the spray of a sharp, salty wave as the men caught the end. The gust of the sail rising past her face blew her hair from her forehead, and once she was certain the pulley would hold, she swung herself down with a satisfied sigh.

“Nicely done, little redwing.”

The voice in her ear made her shiver almost as much as the arm that slipped round her waist, and she blanched in surprise, jerking straight and stiff. “Thomas? Are you out of your bloody mind?”

“Soft, little bird,” he reassured her with a ghost of a kiss to her temple. “Just thought you might like this back.” A flash of sunlight on steel, the quiet hiss of metal settling home inside leather; Tierney’s hand fell to the cutlass once again at her hip in an absent, familiar caress. Thomas stepped around to face her, the impish light in his eyes a direct contrast to regal tilt of his head. “Feeling all right?”

Tierney curled the corner of her mouth in an affectionate sneer. “Right as rain, Captain.”

“Good.” He leaned a bit closer, growled velvet through his teeth. “Get your arse back on the line.”

Squaring her shoulders and setting her chin, she met the playful ice of his stare with the untamed fire of her own.

“Aye aye, sir.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Oi, there, old man, watch where you’re goin’!”

Tierney giggled as Matthews side-stepped her outstretched legs with a clumsy little jig, somehow managing to keep hold of the produce-filled crates filled stacked in his arms.

“Good Christ, girl,” he scoffed, looking down at the young woman propped against the wall of the bow, kicking his ankles free of the rope spiraled across the deck beside her. “What the hell are you doing down there?”

“Ain’t it obvious?” she snorted, picking up a handful of the scraggled cable and dangling it from her fingers. “Stay lines all frayed to tatters and weather on the horizon?”

Matthews rumbled a chuckle as he set his load aside, reaching to haul another coil of fresh unused hemp to her side. “And here I thought you liked it a hundred feet up, storm screamin’ all about, your skinny arse swinging in the breeze.” He slid down the wall of the ship next to her, taking up the section of cord she’d already reinforced, narrowing his eyes as he passed the taut braid through his fingers. “Impressive work.”

Tierney exhaled a proud little sniff, nudging her shoulder against his as she continued to plait the threads in her hands. “I learned from the best.”

“Aye, that you did,” Keoghan nodded, spooling the line from wrist to elbow and hanging it from a nearby peg before holding out his empty palm once again. “Hand me some over, I’ll show you that triple-weave again.” He took the rope Tierney offered, aligning the worn strands with the new, burying the weathered grey between the sturdier brown. “Virginia coast tomorrow,” he murmured absently.

“Mmm,” she hummed, her eyes scrutinizing his work as her fingers mirrored the twist and tuck of his. “Port called Norfolk.”

“Weren’t too long ago,” the older gentleman spoke with airy disinterest, “we were discussing plans to shed this lot once solid ground was in sight, find ourselves different passage back home.”

“I recall,” Tierney’s tone was almost equally aloof, but the corners of her mouth quirked ever so slightly as she threaded the ends of her line into a fat, firm knot.

“We ain’t had that manner of discussion in a few weeks,” Matthews continued. “I find myself assumin’ we ain’t us gonna bother with other arrangements now.”

Tierney sighed a small laugh through her nose. “Safe assumption,” she admitted quietly, whipping the rope into a thick, tidy coil. “After all, you’re comfortable here, aren’t you?”

“Aye,” Keoghan shrugged as he continued weaving his way along the cable. “Bronny be a sturdy lass with an able-handed crew.”

“Agreed.” Tierney hauled another heap of ragged twine into her lap. “And you know as well as I - Papa always said the devil you know’s a heap easier to dance with than the devil you don’t. So we stay the course ‘til English soil’s beneath our boots once more, eh?”

“Aye, miss,” it was Matthews turn to bump his shoulder against hers. “And then… what?”

Tierney could feel her brow stitching into a stormy bow at the center of her forehead, her lips pursing in a sour pucker as the words echoed through her brain in a tinny rattle.

_Then what indeed…_

It was a simple rhythm she’d fallen into, and she danced the steps with almost criminal ease. She would rouse every day before the ringing of the bells to the feeling of Thomas’ silky scruff scraping against her cheek or bare shoulder, snuggling into his embrace while his morning-gruff chuckle rumbled pleasantly against her back. He would touch her, tease her, secret little nudges and strokes hidden by the blankets that covered them until she was more than awake, her blood singing beneath her skin. And just when she would turn in his arms, parting her lips and spreading her legs, his palm would land on the curve of her ass in a resounding smack, his voice gravelly in the hollow of her offered mouth.

“On your feet, little redwing, there’s work to be done.”

They would dress on opposite sides of the cabin, Tierney shooting scowls at his merry grin until he dragged her into his arms once more, soothing her aborted ardor with playful kisses and whispered promises of pleasures to come at the end of the day. Another hearty slap to her backside as she pulled on her boots and out the door he’d glide, humming to himself or whistling a jaunty tune. She would tidy the linens on the bed, wash their soiled clothing from the day before, then scuttle herself to the kitchen to help Conall with breakfast.

She’d hit the deck with her belly full, stretching in the sun before shimmying up the main mast to scan the horizon. She’d savor a few long, quiet moments, breathing in the salty breeze and learning the toss and turn of the current. Then it was back to sea-level to complete her chores side by side with men she’d grudgingly gained true affection for, in spite of her detached resolve.

It was Frost who would muck the hold as she fed and watered the livestock, pointedly ignoring the rolling of her eyes as he cooed and crooned and stroked his callused hands along the cattle’s meaty flanks or scratched behind the ears of a pig or two.

“Why in bleedin’ Christ’s name would you name ‘em, Frosty?” she’d scolded once, stacking her empty feed buckets beside the barrels before planting her fists on her hips. “They’re only gonna end up on your plate tomorrow or day after.”

The dark-haired lad chuffed a laugh and spit through the considerable gap between his front teeth, leaning against the long handle of his scoop. “I’m the one back here shovelin’ my way through their shite, ye brassy little brat, I reckon I can call ‘em whatever I please.”

She and Schwartz had taken to racing their way up the ladders to raise and lower sheets and tacks, and it never failed to annoy her that his longer arms and thicker muscles always seemed to edge her smaller, slender form into a narrow second as they reached topgallant. His anxiety always kicked in after a glance or two down, though, so her boots always hit the deck before his, often after some unnecessary acrobatics demonstrated over the last few feet.

“Keep that up, little fool, and ye’ll find yourself flat on that arse of yours one of these days, moanin’ and groanin’ and writhin’ in pain, and won’t one man aboard come runnin’ to save you,” Matthews grumbled one afternoon after watching her complete a daring leap from the rigging, shaking his head at her breathless grin.

“ _Oy, zorro de plata_ ,” Guillermo clucked his tongue as he spooled a stay line around a nearby dowel, “I never seen a _niñita_ needs saving less than this one here.”

Once the day was well and truly underway and the wind was at their backs, she’d head to the gun deck to spend some time with Angus, the ship’s master of arms whose red hair and beard always elicited fond memories of her father. Then his mouth would open and his barking Scottish brogue would spill from his lips, shattering the illusion and bringing her back to the moment. He’d walk her along the lines of cannon, introducing her to each of the guns and schooling her in their cleaning, maintenance, loading, and firing. They’d sit side by side putting steel to stone, honing each blade aboard to a razor-fine edge. And if the weather was fair and the sails were full, they’d circle each other in a spirited spar, teaching and learning in equal turn.

Some days she’d see Thomas about here or there, some days not so much. But he was always waiting when the dinner bell rang, ushering his crew into the mess with smiles and praise and claps on the back. He’d make certain their plates were full and their mugs overflowing before accepting his own and crossing to sink into the seat beside her. The company was always wonderfully boisterous, but more than once Tierney found herself wistfully missing the private suppers she and Thomas had shared before.

_Before…_

He never left her to mourn for long. No sooner were their meals finished when his voice was booming a hearty goodnight to the lads, his hand gentle but firm at the small of her back. The men would smile and nod, drop their winks as they passed, but none ever snorted or sneered or spoke a word out of turn. He would lead her down the stairs in silence, guiding her through the door of the cabin and closing it solidly behind them.

The day would fall away as easily as the clothes he pushed from her body, as smoothly as the long copper waves that tumbled from the binding he pulled from her hair. His tongue would paint her lips with the sweet, spicy warmth of the evening’s rum as he backed her towards the bed, kicking off his boots and trousers as they went. Her knees would hit the mattress and she’d sink down upon it, her eyes turned up to his in silent worship, her hands pushing the hem of his shirt up to his chest. His stomach would hitch and quiver as her breath dusted across his skin; he would toss the garment aside before drinking in the sight of her mouth dancing along the landscape of muscle and sinew and soft, golden hair. His fingers would curl at her scalp, her name drifting on the breeze of his whisper.

“Tierney…”

His mouth would find hers as he lowered her to the berth, his length covering hers, his hands spreading her hair over the pillow, his knees spreading her legs to open her to his eager invasion. Her fingertips would grope their way along the thick ridges of his thighs, up to the taut curves of his buttocks, grasping tightly as she lifted her hips in desperate welcome.

“Thomas…”

Sometimes slow and sweet, other times rapid and rushing and ravenously hungry, he’d steer her through their couplings with a strong and certain hand, his gaze reading her body with the same learned skill he used to gauge the tossing of the tide. When her head thrashed wildly from side to side, his fingers would close around her throat, a calming, comforting anchor to hold her together during moments she feared she might fly apart into a thousand pieces within her own skin. Her quick and airy panting would slow to long, whimpering breaths and his head would fall back on his neck, his eyes sliding closed as he drove into her, deeper and deeper.

He would let her float awhile, savoring the sensations, sailing her closer and closer to the whirlpool undertow of orgasm until his name was but a sobbing plea on her lips. And then his grip would tighten carefully, pulling her upright into his lap, his palms on her ass pressing her into each rolling thrust of his hips. She would wind her arms around his neck, pout sullenly against his cheek, even as he chuckled into her ear.

“Trust your captain, little redwing…”

Sometimes he would lie back, smirking up at her as she rode him for her pleasure, his fingers teasing and tweaking her swollen nipples through the fiery curtain of her hair. Sometimes he would spin her ‘round, guiding her hands to hold the headboard of the bed as he filled her from behind, his whiskers tickling her skin as his teeth sank into her shoulder. Sometimes he would flicker his fingertips over the straining bud of her clitoris, sometimes he would snarl into her neck that she should do it herself, always groaning his approval at the responding clench of her body around his cock. And then his mouth would find her ear, his breath hot and moist as his growl reverberated through her head.

“Ready for the plunge, love?”

Her hands would flutter like startled gulls, one pushing against the burning spiral of excitement coiling tighter and tighter just below her navel, the fingers of the other sliding up to find purchase in the sweat-dampened silk of his curls.

“Aye, captain… please… _please_ …”

His arms would wind around her, crushing her to him as he steered her, harder, faster, towards the edge of the cyclone before diving with her, straight into the eye of the storm. They would collapse into the embrace of the bed, tangled in one another as the waters settled, the whipping winds calming to a gentle breeze, the glistening sheen of their exertions slowly drying to a glow that radiated from just beneath their skin. His weary arm would drag the sheets up to cover them, she would burrow her body into the warm curve of his, and they would drift to sleep together on a yawned lullaby.

“Until the morning, little redwing…”

“Aye, captain…”

“Eh, captain,” Matthews voice broke into her reverie, turning her attention to the shadow that had fallen across the sliver of deck between them. “What say you, sir?”

“Mr. Matthews,” Thomas’ voice was heavy with respect, yet edged with the faintest hint of disquiet. “Clouds to the nor‘east and the wind is starting to sing. Think we’re in for a fair bit of chop this evening.” He dropped to a squat in front of them, plucking up a yard of rope and slipping it through his fingers, his clear blue eyes meeting Tierney’s with a faint but lusty flash. “Little redwing.”

“Cap’n,” she nodded pertly, biting back a grin as he admired her work. “Ol’ blondie and I can have these lines rigged in a flash, soon as _señor_ has that topsail patched. Then let Mother Nature do her worst,” she scoffed, elbowing the sailor at her side. “Most these men ain’t bathed in days, could use ‘em a good shower.”

“Careful there, sassy brat,” Keoghan gave her braid a tug before pushing himself to his feet. “Your girly side is showin’ there.”

“T’ain’t just girly to wish ye lot smelled better,” Tierney grumbled, rising as well and scowling at the older man’s back as he picked up his crates and headed below deck. “Girly side,” she jeered to herself before raising her voice once more, “I ain’t got no girly side!”

“Mmm,” Thomas’ purr raised the hair on the back of her neck with a tingle as he pulled her into his arms. “You and I both know that’s not exactly true.”

She turned up her nose with sniff, resisting the tickle of his beard as he nuzzled her throat, but her stomach pirouetted gleefully beneath her waistcoat as his lips brushed a kiss to the corner of her jaw.

“Captain,” she giggled, nudging him away with her chin. “You fraternize with all your crew this way?”

His head raised above hers once more, his gaze smoldering as he slid his palms up the front of her waistcoat.

“Only those with breasts as perfect as these beauties here,” he quirked a rakish grin as he squeezed her supple curves, nipping at her bottom lip before putting space between them once more, turning his attention to the newly repaired cords stacked on the planks at his feet. “You do damn fine work, little bird. Now, where’s Guy with that sheet? We’re losing light.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Cap’n,” Tierney chirped with a wink. “You of all people should know I can find my way up a tall skinny trunk just as spry in the dark.”

Thomas furrowed his brow as she skipped just beyond his reach. “Who are you calling skinny, wicked little wisp?” The two shared a brief, comfortable laugh, then a heartbeat of silence broken only by the flap of canvas as the wind shifted overhead. “Pretty Tierney,” he breathed at last, “I will miss you, love.”

Tierney shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “What’ve you got to miss me for?” she queried uneasily. “I ain’t going anywhere, save up the mast and down to mess.”

“Oh, I know that,” Thomas chuckled, stepping closer to tuck a wayward strand of blowing scarlet behind her ear. “But tomorrow promises to be one very long day.” He exhaled a long sigh through his nose, the tip of his thumb tracing the bow of her bottom lip. “A very long day of packing and hauling and ‘how do you do?’ Haggling and bartering and looking over shoulders.” He chucked her beneath her chin with a weary wink. “Not my favorite part.”

“Not one bit surprised,” she shook her head, “but we’ll manage, won’t we?” She sidled into him with a sweet little smile, letting her fingers trail briefly along the open collar at his throat. “We’re getting pretty good at managing all manner of this and that.”

“Aye, my lovely little redwing,” Thomas lifted her hand, nuzzled his whiskers into her palm, “but there is no ‘we’ tomorrow.”

Tierney froze where she stood, the first feathers of thunderheads gathering above her brow. “What do you mean, no ‘we’ tomorrow?”

“Oh, Tierney,” Thomas chortled gently, “you didn’t think I’d be taking you with me, did you?”

The young woman snatched her arm away, stepping back as lightning flashed from her eyes. “A’course I did,” she snipped, “why wouldn’t I?”

“Tierney…”

“’Tis _my_ cargo you’re handin’ off, after all.”

“Little redwing…” Thomas reached for her, only to blanch when she slapped his hand away.

“Don’t you ‘little redwing’ sweet talk me, Thomas William Hiddleston, don’t you _dare_!” she hissed, one slender finger pointed beneath his nose. “There ain’t a man aboard knows more about what we haul in that hold than I do and you bloody well know it!” She advanced on him as she spoke, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “You plundered my ship to turn you a profit and you dragged me aboard this one to settle a debt. And since I don’t imagine Hennessey did much in the way of pleasuring that prick of yours, the debt still stands!”

“Tierney!” Thomas roared, fisting her tunic and yanking her onto her tiptoes. “Angry you may be, but I’m still captain of this vessel.” He lowered his face until they were nose to nose, his moustache brushing her lips as he seethed. “ _You will mind your fucking tone_.”

“I don’t mind my tone _one bit_ , please and thank you,” she snarled in reply. “You took my ship, you cast off my crew, you made me and my very best man hostage to your fortune. And up ‘til now I’ve towed your line, _Captain Thomas_ , because I thought your brain was at least as talented as your tongue. But brokering this deal without me, without the one who knows the how’s, the when’s and wherefore’s of your goods is utter fucking folly! And if you don’t know that, you ain’t fit to command a bath in that tub you’re so fucking proud of, let alone men at sea!”

She balanced on the balls of her feet, determined not to shift or stumble, refusing to grasp at him for steadying support. Their gazes locked, fire and ice, as she caught her breath, her tongue curling over her lips in a defiant sneer.

“You’ve said your piece,” Thomas murmured, his words calm and even but deadly quiet, “now I’ll say mine.” He raised his chin, his fingers tightening around the cotton yolk that held her aloft. “I took your ship. I took you and Matthews. I command the two of you, and your cargo, as well as every other soul aboard this boat. And if you think I take any of that lightly, then you’re the one who’s the bloody fucking fool.”

He drew her closer for a heartbeat, another, his breath filling her nostrils as his heat bled through his clothes and into hers. Then, slowly, he loosened his grip, lowering her to the deck once more.

“I make my plans, very, very carefully, little redwing. I prepare, I anticipate. I leave _nothing_ to chance when there’s a noose close by, and it ain’t just my neck I aim to keep out of it.” He let go her shirt with a deep inhale, squaring his shoulders as he continued. “There’s wet work needs doing, and you ain’t a part of it.” His hand briefly caressed her jaw. “You may share a pirate’s bed, my dear. But you? Are not a pirate.” He leaned close again, his mouth close to her ear. “You will keep your pretty little arse on this ship tomorrow, Tierney, and I’ll hear no more about it.”

She opened her mouth to lash him once more, only to choke on her angry words as he grabbed her neck in his hands, crushed his lips to hers. She huffed a muffled, infuriated mewl across his cheek, scrambling for equilibrium as the earth seemed to shift beneath her feet. Part of her wanted to hook her fingers into claws, to rake at his well-sculpted features, to pummel his chest and denounce him a rogue. Another ached melt into his embrace, to curl into his chest, to lose herself in the oceans of his eyes. And to beg.

_Why, Thomas? Tell me why! You know who I am, you know how hard I’ve worked! Why would you leave me here, waiting and wondering? What are you doing? What are_ we _doing? And what in the hell are we_ going _to do?_

In the end, she did neither, simply stayed stiff and still in his arms until his mouth let her loose and he stepped back, his eyes full of some foreign, unreadable emotion. He held her stare a long muted moment, then turned on his heel and strode away. Tierney glanced furtively about, looking to see if curious eyes were watching their congress, but there wasn’t a man in sight, only the sea and the spray and the hard-rippling sails. Clearing her throat, she bent her knees, gathering the coils of rope and draping them over her arms, tossing her hair back before heading herself to the main mast of the deck.

The wind wheezed through her ears at a hundred feet up, and the first pinprick kisses of early evening rain kept her alert and aware as she secured cable to gaff, checking the lines as the men below hauled the reinforced sail up into place. By the time the sun had dipped to the horizon, all sheets and stays were in place, just in time for the squall to reach fever pitch, the full force of the downpour pelting the boards as she dropped down to them, shrugging off the cloak Matthews wrapped around her.

“I’m drenched as it is, Key, what’s the point in it now?”

He hurried her across the deck to the door of the mess, sweeping water from her shoulders as she squeezed it from her braid, sighing at the welcome heat radiating from the room. Most of the men were already seated and tucking in, and as her eyes scanned the room, she could see that Thomas was no exception. Hunched over his plate, picking chicken from the bone with the tip of his fork, she watched him glance at the empty spot beside him, the full and untouched platter next to his. Her stomach gave a queer, miserable twist, and she pushed decisively back against Matthews’ guiding hand.

“Off my appetite,” she mumbled softly. “I’m more for a dry shirt and a warm bed.”

“Little lady…?”

Tierney could feel his confounded stare burning through her back but she offered no further explanation, simply hurried down the darkened stairs and across the corridor, closing the cabin door with a grunt of angry frustration. Her clothing landed in the corner in a soggy heap; she didn’t even bother to untangle her long and dripping plait before pulling a fresh tunic over her head. She stalked the floor a few thumping paces, the nail of one thumb caught between her teeth.

_Look at what you’ve gone and done, stupid girl. He’s hooked you proper, holds you wiggling on the line. Ain’t naught you can do but wait and see if he casts you back or swallows you whole. What would Seamus McCrae think of you now?_

With an agitated growl, she stomped to the decanter perched on the table, splashed liquid amber four fingers deep into a crystal tumbler. Downing half the spicy spirit in a single draught, she threw herself down on her side of the berth, hauling the linens up to her ear and nursing the rest, her silent sulk staring out at the storm whipping up the waves.

The lamp on Thomas’ bedside table was still burning low when the midnight breeze rattled the windows gently in their frames, casting the cabin in a muted tawny glow. Tierney eyes fluttered open, and she blinked in momentary confusion at the empty glass still dangling from her fingers. She struggled up onto her elbow, thumping it clumsily to her nightstand and shivering at the wet streak her hair had bled into her shirt along her spine. Squinting in the dim, she turned, her heart sinking at the sight of the empty mattress beside her. She extended her palm, stroked it down the cool landscape where his body should have been, pulled his pillow to her cheek. When the scent of his hair and skin did little to soothe the ache gnawing at the hollow of her gut, she kicked aside the bedsheets and rose with a stretch. Pausing just long enough to pour herself another finger’s depth of nerve, she lifted her chin and padded across the cabin floor.

The desk in the anteroom was cloaked in maps and charts, their corners fluttering quiet chatter in the evening breeze. Tierney tugged the hem of her tunic down her thighs, closed her eyes as the gentle gusts blew her hair from her forehead. When she opened them once more, she turned her attention to the balcony door hanging ajar, and the man standing just beyond it.

He’d shed his belt and waistcoat, stripped away his shirt and kicked off his boots. She could see the tension that tightened the muscles of his neck and shoulders, the stiff-backed posture of his body, the grip of his long fingers on the rail in front of him. She tipped the glass to her lips, washed down her misery with the last mouthful of the rum, then set it silently on the table before tiptoeing closer to the door.

The creaking of a floorboard gave her away; he didn’t even turn. “You should be sleeping, little redwing.”

“ _You_ should be sleeping,” she grouched childishly. “You are the one, after all, with _such_ a long day in front of you.” She bit her lip in anticipation, waiting for his chilly voice to slice her with angry words, for his lanky form to whirl on her in irritation, for his eyes to flash and his teeth to grind.

He laughed instead, tilting his head back to allow the breeze to blow the errant curls from his forehead. “You make an excellent point.”

She stitched her brow in disappointment, drumming her fingers on the jamb. “Why didn’t you come to bed, then?”

“I assumed, little redwing,” he glanced at her over his shoulder, “that you wouldn’t want me there.”

“Why would that matter?” Tierney muttered sullenly. “’Tis your bed, after all.”

Thomas turned to face her, his eyes holding her in their swirling depths. “Is it?”

“What’re you sayin’?” she snapped, crossing her arms tight over her chest. “That it’s _our_ bed?”

His gaze never wavered, his expression never hitched. “Isn’t it?”

“Fucking Christ, Thomas,” she threw her fists to her sides, stomping her foot on the floor. “I’ve had enough of your stupid games! What the bloody fuck are we doing here? Am I your partner? Am I your prisoner? I’m tired of trying to figure it out, goddamn it, _tell me what I am_!”

Thomas’ sad smile winked from beneath his ginger scruff, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. “I can’t, Tierney, I’m sorry. There’s no one word for what you are.”

“And when has limiting your answers to single words ever been a problem for you?” she spat, and he laughed again, a rich, warm sound that set her teeth on edge even as it turned her knees to water.

“Sweet little bird,” he took a step back, leaning against the balustrade, “you are… an unexpected… everything. You’re fierce and fiery, arrogant and over-confident and absolutely infuriating. You’re savvy and smart, you’re able and determined, and you’re so fucking stubborn I’ve to fight the urge to tether you to a post from time to time.” His features softened, even as her frown deepened. “You’re brave and you’re beautiful and you set me to spinning. I dragged you into my world and, in return, you turned it arse over teakettle,” he stretched an arm to stroke a thumb along her cheek, “but I like the view much better now.”

“Then _why_ …” Tierney took a step forward, reaching for him, only to have him grab her hands and hold them tight.

“My world’s a far more dangerous place now, little redwing. I’d never been afraid to die,” he lifted her fingers to his lips, “’til I found something like you to live for.”

“Thomas…”

“And that’s why I can’t take you with me, Tierney, why I _won’t_ take you with me.” The wind whipped through his hair, fluttered beneath Tierney’s shirt, making them both shiver in tandem. “I know the sea and the stars and I’m better than fair at reading the ways of any man who stands in front of me. Until you step close,” he bent his head, releasing her hands to cup her face, the tip of his nose nuzzling her forehead. “Then it’s all the scent of your skin and the fire in your hair, the blush of those luscious lips and the razor lash of your tongue. You consume me, Tierney, and I can’t protect myself, could never protect you, when all I can think of is touching you… tasting you…”

“Thomas,” her breath skipped from her chest in a shuddering sigh as she wrapped her fingers around his wrists, “listen to me, please.”

“I won’t risk it, Tierney. I will not risk you,” he lifted her chin, brushed his lips over hers. “ _Trust your captain_.”

She closed her eyes, whimpering softly as he continued along the line of her jaw, up to her temple, across her brow. And then he released her, tipping a small nod before turning back to the railing, lifting his gaze to the stars once again. She stood a moment, rooted to her spot, her fists clenching and releasing in rhythmic bursts. She dragged in a double lungful of air, held it until she was sure her chest would burst, then closed the distance between them, winding her arms around his waist and pressing herself to his back.

“I do,” she whispered fiercely against his shoulder, “more than I believed I could, more than I even probably should. And now, I want you to trust me as well.”

“Tierney…”

“Listen to me, Thomas,” she hissed, tightening her grip on his body. “I’ve not needed anyone to protect me for years now; I’m damn bloody capable of protecting myself. Only man who’s ever bested me is standin’ here before me, and I ain’t at the opposite end of his steel no more.” She looked up into the eyes he cast over his shoulder, her words both proud and pleading. “You dragged me into your world indeed, Thomas… now let me play my part in it. I know the fields that yielded that wheat, I know the sheep that grew the wool and I know whose hands sheared them naked once more. I can speak to the quality and I can defend a fair price.” She paused to press an impulsive kiss to one well-defined bicep. “I can watch your back as well as my own. I won’t risk you, neither, so… just… stop all this nonsense and say we’re a go.”

Thomas covered her hand with his own. “Little redwing wants to be a pirate now, does she?”

“I don’t exactly know what I want to be,” she admitted, pressing tighter against him. “I do know I _don’t_ want to sit on this ship, watching and waiting for you to come back.”

“And what about you?” he prodded gently. “If we be caught now, you can still claim your innocence. You can tell the world you served on the ship to save your own skin, no judge nor lord would fault you for that. But cross this line, Tierney,” his voice darkened, “there’s no going back. Your hands will be as dirty as mine.”

She held his gaze a second or two, then curled her lips in a soft, wicked grin. “You let me worry about my hands, Captain.”

“ _Tierney_ ,” he barked in startled surprise as her touch slipped below the waist of his trousers, finding and fondling the ample weight of his dozing cock.

“Shh, Thomas, please,” she whispered, her fingers circling his rising girth and giving it a gentle tug. “You’ve been such a generous teacher… let me show you what I’ve learned…”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, girl…”

“Shhhh…”

She stroked the palm of her other hand over the quivering muscles of his abdomen as she caressed his length from root to tip, marveling at the heat of his velvety skin, at the hardness that rose within her gentle grasp. Longer, thicker, he grew in her hand until he filled the fleshy hood that concealed his crown; his muttered curse as her fingers slid his foreskin back made her tremble in delight.

His head was flushed a ruddy crimson, a plump, shimmering drop of fluid pooled in the slit at the center. Tierney knew its tart, salty tang, could feel her tongue swelling at the memory of the flavor. She settled for a taste of the perspiration rising from the pores along his spine as the pad of her thumb wicked the wetness around his exposed and sensitive peak, relishing his hitch of breath and the twitch of his fingers that held her wrist. Taking a breath to clear her senses, she closed her grip around him, slipping it down his shaft, then up once more.

“Tierney… _fuck_ …”

The wind whipped past them in a tittering gust and she closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the center of his back. Behind her lids she saw him, just as she had those weeks ago, leaning in that very doorway, sighing her name in that same, longing timbre. She pulled and squeezed as she’d watched him do, thrilling at the buck of his hips that pushed him into her touch. The rough cotton of her tunic scraped against the excited points of her nipples as her other hand slid lower to catch and caress the sac that hung between his thighs, and he groaned in ecstatic frustration.

“Tierney… darling…”

“I know, Thomas,” she pressed her lips against his shoulder in a ferocious kiss, “ahead easy.”

“Ohhh… Tierney… you cunning little… _Christ_ …” His words dissolved into an incoherent gasp, the rhythmic rocking of his body hiccupping in her embrace.

“That’s it, Captain,” she encouraged softly, her hand moving faster, her hold on him tightening ever so slightly. “Nearly there… please, Thomas, please!”

All at once, he froze in her arms, a strangled snarl spilling from his lips. She could feel him pulsating against her palm, and then he was erupting, hot and thick spurts that coated her fingers and splashed against his stomach.

She was prepared to support his weight when he collapsed, so she was taken by surprise when he whirled instead, grabbing her hips and yanking her roughly against him. She could feel the first drops of a newborn storm pattering against her arms as she wound them around his neck; his hungry growl that filled her mouth was underscored by a distant roll of thunder. She welcomed his desperate kiss, whimpering as the rain began to fall in earnest, soaking them both and making his palms slide deliciously over her thighs as he lifted her off her feet.

The railing behind them was the perfect height; he propped her against it as he rutted into the cradle of her hips. The friction of his grinding brought him back to full mast as his hands groped along her shirt, tearing the neckline deeper until it gaped wide, baring her breasts to lips and tongue. Tierney threw her head back as he caught one nipple between his teeth, letting the downpour wash over her, the fresh, fat raindrops mingling with the salty spray from the waves that frolicked alongside the ship. The wind whipped away her sob of pleasure as he filled her at a thrust, and she plunged her fingers into his saturated curls, dragging his face up to hers. The fraught fire in his eyes seemed to burn brighter the deeper she took him, and his hands curled into fists at her scalp as his voice rose above the bluster.

“Do you trust your captain, little redwing?”

Tierney nodded, breathless, parting her lips and craning her neck for another kiss. She squeaked a little in pained surprise when he yanked her back, his eyes swirling so dark they were nearly black.

“Thomas…?”

“Do you trust me, Tierney?” His body never paused its urgent, sensual roll of thrust and retreat, not even as he bore down on her, rivulets of water dripping from his beard to pool in the hollow of her throat. “Answer me!”

“Aye, Captain,” she shouted over another rumble of thunder, “with my life, I trust ye!”

“Christ… Tierney…” his grip in her hair hauled her upright, the gale billowing her tattered tunic around her like a sail as he crushed her in his arms. He swallowed her shrieks of ecstasy as he forced himself again and again against the tender barrier inside her until he’d wrung her out completely, and she was little more than a smiling, shivering heap in his arms.

Her heart thumped a tiny pang of regret when he carried her inside at last, closing the door on the energy surging just beyond, but the fresh blanket he wrapped around her shoulders was comforting, welcome warmth. She untangled her braid with fatigue-clumsy fingers as he rubbed the moisture from her skin, then curled around her pillow as he tucked her into bed. She watched with sleepy satisfaction while he dried himself as well, then pulled back the linens to make room for him as he snuffed the lamp on the bedside table.

His heart was a slow and steady lullaby beneath her ear as they settled into the mattress; she traced a lazy finger through the golden strands between his nipples.

“You know I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Thomas sighed quietly, threading his fingers into her hair. “Aye, little redwing, I know it well.”

She chewed on her lower lip a moment. “And you? You meant all those things you said out there?”

His responding chortle made her shiver beneath his arm. “Do I say things that I don’t mean?”

“No,” she sniffed. “No, you don’t.”

“All right, then,” his lips caressed her forehead in a last, tender kiss. “Get some sleep.”

She tilted her face up to his. “Does that mean…”

Her words were muffled by the palm of his hand wrapping around her mouth, and she glowered at his admonishing yawn. “It means ‘go to sleep,’ Tierney. Mind your captain, now.”

She held her tongue with mighty effort, and after a few moments, the soft sounds of his snoring drifted into the air.

_He ain’t gonna change his mind, you know. Stubborn git. He’s gonna load up that cargo and haul it ashore while you sit and stew and he ain’t gonna think twice. It’s his ship, his command, and he’s given his orders, neat as you please – ain’t a damn thing you can do it about it now._

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and Thomas’ arm tightened reflexively around her shoulders.

_The hell there ain’t. He said it himself. I may share a pirate’s bed, but I ain’t no pirate. And if I ain’t no pirate, and I ain’t on his ship, his commands ain’t mine to follow._

The dark descended once more, and Tierney’s lips curled in a defiant grin as she closed her eyes.

_Keep my pretty arse on the ship, eh? We’ll see about that, Thomas William Hiddleston._

_We’ll just see about that._


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was a blazing beacon of gold in a sky of endless blue as the _Bronwyn_ rocked lazily just beyond the Virginia shallows; Tierney squinted up into it as she culled the anchor cables with a grunt. All about was a flurry of merry activity as the crew checked stores and prepared boats for launch, each man moving with a spring in his step and a gleam in his eye.

“Solid ground ‘neath your feet, more room to move than a body needs, fresh food, fancy wine, and soft sweet comp’ny to pass the time,” Frost knuckled sweat from his brow with a breathless laugh. “Ready to scratch the itch?” He bit the corner of his lip as Tierney’s withering gaze met his. “Well… maybe not that last for you, so much…”

“Never had much use for most of the rest, neither,” she shrugged, pressing her palms to the base of her spine and groaning in relief at the crackle that tickled its way up as she stretched.

“Never has a statement surprised me less, miss,” Mason smiled, shaking his head as a rogue wave splashed diamond drops into his sandy brown braid and goatee. “I’d wager you bleed saltwater, don’t you?”

Tierney grinned, tipping her hat back on her brow. “Feel like drawing your steel and finding out firsthand?” she teased, planting one hand on her hip while the fingers of the other curled around the pommel of her sword.

“Nay, miss,” he threw up his palms and took a brisk step back. “I’ve seen you in action, that’s all the firsthand I need.”

“I think we can all count ourselves lucky that the little redwing would chose to fight with us instead of against us.”

Thomas’ booming baritone brought the slight young man to perfect military attention, and Tierney giggled as she watched him snatch down the hand that was rising in conditioned salute.

“Ship anchored and secure, sir,” he quipped sharply, ignoring the way Frost’s shoulder jostled against the captains. “Sails kept at halves per orders, ready to away at your command.”

“Damn fine job, my boy,” Thomas clapped him on the back. “Now go stow that stick up your arse and fetch the coffers.” The sailor dropped him a crisp nod and another to Tierney before shooting a rude gesture at his dark-haired mate, and the captain turned to Frost himself. “Livestock watered and empty barrels in the boat, yes?”

“Loaded and tethered and ready for transport, Cap’n,” the lad affirmed with a wink. “Don’t forget, a new hose won’t go too far amiss. I done patched that one spot four times now, still weeps like a widow when the flow’s at full force.”

“Understood,” Thomas’ eyes scrutinized the rigging as Houtman huffed up the starboard steps, his dirty blond hair flopping heavily against his cheeks. “Johannes, what have you got for me?”

As he approached, the bulky Dutchman dipped one hand into the burlap bag he was carrying, pulling out a handful of soft, silky wool. He splayed the threads across his fingers, his blue eyes wide and impressed as he offered both over for inspection.

“Fuckin’ great haul here, Cap’n. This is the best of it, but truth be told,’tis all this quality.”

Tierney’s mouth twisted in a wry little smirk as Thomas took the material and stroked his fingertips over the strands; his eyes cut to the side and he exhaled a chuckle at the pride in her expression.

“T’will turn out to be a fine journey, lads,” he grinned, tucking the fluff into the sack and cinching it tight before tossing it back. “A fine journey indeed. Add that to the wheat Conall set aside this morning, put ‘em both in the boat. Tell Gus I’ll be down directly.” The men disappeared down the stairs in a thunder of boots, and once they were gone, Thomas slipped an arm around Tierney’s waist and pulled her snug against him. She sulked a bit, her cheek to his chest, until his hand beneath her chin lifted her gaze to his.

“That’s a pretty pout,” he hummed, nuzzling the tip of his nose against hers. “Give us a taste?” She shrugged petulantly, resisting his kiss until the gentle caress of his tongue filled her mouth and turned her knees to water. She fisted the lapels of his shirt until he released her, his thumb stroking the corner of her jaw. “Come now, little redwing, t’was you who once said folk’ve had to drag you ashore with winch and chain. What’s one more night afloat on the sea you love so much?”

Tierney shrugged, cuddling into his embrace. “I might like to see this New World for myself, you know.”

“And you can,” Thomas assured her with a curt swat to her backside, “you and the rest of the skeleton crew keeping watch tonight can have your leave tomorrow.” Realizing her attempt to sway his decision had fallen flat, she pushed free from his arms with a brusque _harrumph_ , and he gave her swinging braid an affectionate tug. “We’ll find the port town’s finest pub and I’ll buy you a cup of the best they serve myself.”

“Well, ain’t you just the kindest, most generous captain ever to sail a ship at sea,” she sneered, crossing to the wall of the bow and leaning her forearms on the warm wood to stare morosely out at the calm, waving water.

“Tierney…”

She bit her lip briefly before heaving a sigh. “I’m sorry, Thomas. It’s just…” She groped briefly for words until his chest brushed her back, his hands gripping the railing alongside hers as he leaned into the crook of her neck, knocking her hat askew.

“I understand your position, little redwing,” he murmured gently. “But you must understand mine.” His swallow echoed in her ear. “After all,” he paused, “you wouldn’t defy your father’s orders now, would you?”

Her ire pitched slightly at his words, but the muted plea in his eyes tempered its edge, and she managed to offer him a thin, tight smirk. “You,” she cocked her head a tick, “are not my father.”

“No,” Thomas smiled, “I’m not. And not just because I’m half a foot and five stones shy.” He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead before straightening the tricorn above her brow. “But I’m just as determined to protect his daughter, even if only from herself.” He pushed himself away from the railing and straightened his waistcoat. “So I will to the business ashore and you will stay here.”

“Aye, Captain,” she grumbled, toeing a knot in the wood at her feet.

“I’ll be back before the sun is gone. And if you care for another meeting of the minds to discuss shipboard protocol,” he dropped her a lascivious wink, “what say we do it from a nice, warm bed?”

She shot him a dark and surly scowl but it didn’t matter; the swagger in his departing steps told her he’d seen the shiver that passed through her body at his words as clear as he could see the nose on her face.

What he didn’t see, once his back was to her and moving away, was the way her glower melted into a small, sneering grin that she hastily hid behind her hand.

_Just let him get out of sight, girl…_

Turning with a sigh, she followed along behind him, watching with half-hearted interest as the men on the deck eagerly assembled at his approach. A handful of silver clinked into each fellow’s palm, accompanied by rumbled words of sincere thanks from their commander himself.

“Deserves their loyalty, he does.”

Matthews’ voice at her elbow, and she sniffed wordless agreement, watching the small crowd disperse in a buzz of excitement. Houtman, Hannibal, Guillermo and Mason all headed back to their posts while the others dashed for their berths, more than ready to begin the leave they’d been waiting weeks to enjoy. As the sea of bodies parted, Thomas crossed to join the two newcomers, jingling the remaining coins in the bottom of the leather pouch.

“And you,” he thundered quietly, biting back a grin as Matthews lifted his chin and squared his shoulders proper.

“Aye, sir?”

“Why wasn’t your grizzled arse queued up over there?”

“Sir?” Keoghan glanced uncertainly at Tierney, who shrugged in earnest ignorance, before meeting the captain’s gaze once more.

Thomas rolled his eyes briefly before shaking the last of the silver into his palm. “Fair day’s wages for a fair day’s work,” he intoned, holding them out to the wide-eyed older gentleman. “Or do you do all those back-breaking chores for fun?”

Stunned, Matthews held out an uncertain hand, glancing again at Tierney’s face, now spilt in an ear to ear grin. Ducking his head, he accept the coins with an embarrassed yet endearing stammer.

“Yes, sir. I mean no, no, sir. I mean… oh, bollocks… thank you. Thank you, sir, very much.”

“You earned it, Mr. Matthews,” Thomas insisted warmly, clapping the man on the shoulder. “Enjoy it.” He stepped to Tierney’s side to let Keoghan pass, laughing a little at the new life in his stride until he felt the young woman’s hip nudge gently into his.

“Thomas William Hiddleston,” her expression was stern, but the warmth in her voice was unmistakable. “Full of surprises, you are.”

“Oi, Cap!” Gus’ harsh Scottish bass echoed across the deck. “Loaded and ready for launch, sir.”

Thomas lifted a hand to the man in a wave of acknowledgement, then brushed the back of his fingers along Tierney’s cheek. “I’ll be back tonight.”

She swallowed the unexpected lump in her throat, lifted her chin. “You’d better.”

His thumb traced the plump bow of her bottom lip. “Kiss for luck?”

She nodded, welcoming the soft caress of his mouth with a gentle flicker of her tongue, her fingers tugging at his beard. And then he spun, swift and graceful, striding to follow Gus over the side and down the ladder into the tender, taking a seat on the bench as the other man took up the oars. Tierney leaned against the rail of the ship, watching the smaller boat cut through the lapping waves, lifting a hand when Thomas cast one last look back at her over his shoulder. Then, as soon as he shifted his attention to the task before him, she snatched the hat off her head, turning and dashing for the stairs.

Only moments had passed when Matthews’ knuckles rapped on the cabin door; she gruffed an impatient sniff through her nostrils. “Come.”

“Just comin’ to wish you a fair night on the water, little lady,” he said, straightening the clean kerchief at his neck before tucking in his shirt. “The boy’s n’ I’ll be shovin’ off here…” His voice trailed off into suspicious silence, his eyes narrowing at the young woman as she stood in front of the mirror. “Miss Tierney? What on earth are you up to?”

She had cast off her own tunic and breeches, dressing hastily in a long-sleeved navy blue top she’d pulled from the bottom of Thomas’ dresser and a fresh pair of black trousers. The cinch she’d tied at the small of her back to keep the too-large clothing fitted to her body was hidden beneath her waistcoat, and she was busy winding the fresh, tight plait of her hair into a knot atop her head.

“Nothing,” she muttered absently. “Go away.”

“Tierney,” he tilted his head, his voice heavy with suspicion. “What are you doing?”

“I ain’t doing anything,” she mumbled, clapping her hat on once again, twisting and turning before her reflection until she was satisfied not a single scarlet strand was showing. “Get on out of here, old man,” she cheeked before crossing to the bed where her belt, sword and sheath lay waiting. “Get yourself a grog, sleep in a proper bed. I’ll see you on the morrow.”

“Don’t you be tellin’ me what to do, you sharp-tongued little stingray,” Matthews shook a finger at her as he followed behind. “I been watching you your whole short, sassy life, an’ I know just by lookin’ when you’re about to be gettin’ yourself up to somethin’ you ought not.”

“Keoghan, I am fine,” she bit through her teeth as she wriggled herself into the broad leather binding, buckling the heavy belt before easing her blade into the scabbard. “Them boys, however, are itchin’ something fierce to get solid ground beneath their feet and warm women around their cocks…”

“ _Tierney!_ ”

“… and if you ain’t in the skiff when they’re ready to shove off, your arse’ll be bobbin’ on this boat all night long.” She snapped her head up and met his eye with steely resolve. “Go _away_.” Brushing past him with a determined stride, she pulled the door open and headed for the stairs.

“Damn your eyes, Tierney,” he hissed, hot on her heels to the port side of the stern, where the winches were primed to lower one of the ship’s lifeboats to the ocean below. “Cap’n didn’t speak a word to none of us about your what and wherefore, but somethin’ tells me he made his expectations crystal clear to you.” He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder as the young woman bustled from frame to frame, easing the lines through the pulleys. “And somethin’ _else_ tells me this here little trip you’re planning on taking weren’t part of the plan.”

“Matthews, _go away_!” she seethed, scrambling to keep the rowboat aligned as it descended to the water.

“Fine,” Keoghan threw his arms in the air. “Fine, fine, just well and fucking fine. You drop that dinghy and you slide your skinny arse down that ladder into it. Makes no difference to me it don’t, you stone-brained little fool.” He yanked his kerchief free from his neck and scrubbed it over his brow. “Cap’ll be there and back again before those scrawny little sticks you call arms’ll pull you even halfway to shore.” He turned on his heel. “I wash my hands of ye.”

“Wait!” Tierney snagged the back of his shirt. “You’re right. It’ll move much faster with two.” She coiled the end of the tow line around a nearby dowel and waved a hand over the side. “Get in.”

“Oh no,” Matthews shook his head, backing up another step. “You want to dive into dangerous waters, you’re swimmin’ alone, little lady.”

“Oh _come on_ , Matthews,” she stomped her boot upon the deck. “You followed me up here, you’re obviously more interested in what I’m doing than any other going’s on, and two heads are better than one…”

“Tierney, I ain’t going to say it again…”

“Keoghan,” the determination in her tone dried his words on his tongue, her little hands fisting the blouse of his shirt. “He’s off to negotiate the cargo… our cargo… and he said I ain’t got no place anywhere near the deal.” Her blue eyes were wide with insulted despair and her plump lower lip thrust forward in a trembling pout.

“Don’t you even try startin’ the waterworks with me, there, missy,” he snapped abruptly, putting a halting palm between them. “They never worked on your papa, they ain’t gonna work on me. Besides,” he sniffed as she abandoned the pretense of misery, crossing her arms over her chest with a churlish frown, “that man you chose ‘as made a fair livin’ off pirating so far; I daresay he can close the contract damn fine on his own.”

“ _Mr._ Matthews,” Tierney barked through gritted teeth, “get your scraggly arse over the side and into that boat!”

“I will not!” He moved toe to toe with her, using the slight inch and a half he held over her to as much advantage as he could. “Now you know, on the Eagle, ain’t no one I’d step-to for faster’n you. But we ain’t on the Eagle no more, and that be _your choosin’._ We’re sailin’ stranger tides than ever we have, and you can fuss and fume all you like, but I be yieldin’ to the captain who’s navigated them a time or two, not this bratty little beast headin’ hell bent for fathoms because she’s got a peck of smartin’ pride!”

“Fine!” Tierney seethed, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides. “ _FINE!_ ” She turned back to the winch, tethering down the last of cables and straightening her sword at her side. “Go. Stay on the ship, shove off with the lads, whatever dips your wick. I’ve worked too long and too hard to be left behind like some blasted barnacle clingin’ to the rudder.” She swung her legs over the side, white-knuckling the ladder as she stared her mate down. “I been takin’ care of myself just fine for years, I can bloody well take care of myself now. And if not,” her stormy sapphire eyes flashed in challenge, “I’m sure I can find someone about willing to help a lady in distress.”

She ignored his muttered curses as she lowered herself into the boat, plopping onto the bench and checking the gates on the outriggers to make certain the oars were secure. But before she could take up the handles, the vessel gave a lurch as Matthews dropped down beside her, grousing beneath his breath.

“Goddamned surly sot… served you a back-breakin’ ball-bustin’ _twenty years_ … this be the thanks I get. You bed down in a nice warm berth, never to be roused again, soft and sweet eternal slumber… and you leave me with this, _this_ …” He swatted Tierney’s hands away from the grips as he threw himself onto the bench opposite her.   “This hard-headed, mule-stubborn sprog of yours… ain’t got the sense that God gave a sponge – I got it, I got it,” he snarled as she moved to join him, knocking her pertly back down on her backside. “Gonna get our necks stretched, you are, and your pretty pirate’s as well. Hope that’ll make you happy…”

He continued to spit and sputter the length of the row, a low, rumbling undertone that Tierney found all too easy to ignore while she busied herself watching the approaching Norfolk shore. As the water-weathered legs of the fisherman’s wharf approached, his diatribe came to a rather abrupt end, his mouth curling in a broad, artificial grin. She quirked a quizzical brow, then rolled her eyes as he tipped a meaningful nod at the men sitting behind the broad desk at the end of the pier.

“Would you relax, Key, for Christ’s sake? We ain’t carryin’ nothin, no cargo to declare.” She held out her open palm with a withering stare. “Harbormaster ain’t gonna take a second look.”

“Aye, you hope so,” Keoghan grumbled as he eased their tender into an empty spot between two other tiny skiffs, furrowing his forehead at her outstretched hand as he reached for the mooring line. “What?”

Tierney crooked her fingers in a brisk “give me” gesture. “He didn’t pay _me_ , Key…”

The shillings made their way from Matthews’ pocket to Tierney’s palm to the till on the pier keeper’s table, and the pair headed down the dusty path towards the quietly bustling town. Tierney’s head bobbed from side to side as she searched the crowds of passers-by, peered in the windows of shops and salons in search of Thomas and his trusted Scottish muscle.

“Just what, exactly, are you plannin’ to do once you find him, eh?” Keoghan asked, his own eyes scanning the faces that passed with wary regard. “Gonna waltz right up and pinch the deal right out from under him?”

“No,” she muttered in distracted irritation.

“Gonna play the tardy trade partner, runnin’ behind schedule and rushin’ in to play catch up?”

“No!” She snapped, craning her neck to peek over the barrels stacked in front of a restaurant door.

“Well, bleedin’ Jesus, girl what _are_ you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Key!” The older man collided with her when she stopped abruptly in the middle of the walkway. “I just… I just…”

“Oh, Tierney.” Matthews caught her by the shoulders and turned her to face him, pulling her to the corner of the building so the rest of the world could pass them by. “Look at me, child.” He waited for her stormy blue eyes to find his, then offered her a small, paternal smile. “I know you ain’t used to this, little lady. You been callin’ the shots a very long time, maybe longer than you yourself know. An’ it’s all been okay, been right as rain, because it was your papa’s world. He worked very hard to teach you that world, the in’s and the out’s and the up’s and the down’s.”

Tierney heaved a heavy sigh, whipping her head to the side, but Matthew’s warm palm on her cheek turned her back.

“But we ain’t in your papa’s world anymore, little girl.” He gave her a gentle shake. “He’s a black flag sailor makin’ a black market deal. Now, maybe congress of that ilk don’t look no different than the barter we’re used to, but maybe it does. And maybe you plowin’ in like a summer surge ain’t the best idea.”

“Fine,” she sighed at last, shrugging off his hands before crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you suggest?”

“I suggested you keepin’ your skinny arse on the ship as you was told,” Matthews grinned wearily, “but since we’re too far gone for that now…”

Merriman’s Dry Goods and Sundries wasn’t difficult to find; its wooden edifice stretched half the length of the street, decorated with bins and barrels and benches. Tierney chewed absently on her lower lip as she watched patrons milling about the shelves and displays, until the crowd parted and her heart fluttered queerly in her chest. Thomas’ lean form was slung casually against the counter, his head bent conspiratorially towards the man on the other side. A stick-skinny fellow, he appeared to be listening with bland, polite interest, his bald pate shining as bright as the silver-rimmed spectacles he polished with his apron. The captain’s burly Scottish companion stood a foot or so away, watching the comings and goings with aloof scrutiny; Tierney grabbed Matthews by the arm, ducking out of sight behind a post as his gaze swept their direction.

“Come on,” she hissed softly, taking a tentative step, then another, “there… behind those shelves…”

A moment later, the two were huddled side by side, peering around bolts of colorful calico fabric as Thomas and the shopkeep bantered back and forth over the sample bags now open on the countertop between them. Merriman perched his glasses on the end of his needle fine nose, squinting at the grains that slid agreeably through his fingers.

“Fair and hearty, I do grant ye that,” he mumbled, lifting a pinch and inhaling a generous whiff. “How’s the ground treated? Cow? Sheep? Were there a method? Or just free rangin’ shitters?”

Thomas’ broad grin faded just a hint, a brief shadow furrowing his brow before clearing once more. “Well, sir, I can’t say I know exactly for certain. But I do guarantee you this is some of the finest English wheat ye’ll ever lay eyes on.”

“Goddamn fool,” Tierney hissed between clenched teeth. “’Tis Carraway’s pride, his manner of sow! I could have told him…”

“Hush, girl,” Matthews elbowed her ribs. “That damn voice of yours carries…”

“… yield around here ain’t near so plump. And it’s all pretty damn dry,” Merriman continued, emptying his palm into the burlap and dusting it clean. “Folk here still learnin’ the land, I suppose.” He thumbed his lip a brief moment. “I can offer ye 45 per.”

Tierney’s mouth snapped agape, and once again, Keoghan had to grab her shoulder to still her tongue in her head.

“Oh, begging your pardon, sir,” Thomas scruffed his fingers through his beard, “but I won’t surrender a sack for less than 60.”

“ _Is he out of his mind?_ ” Tierney seethed. “It’s worth 55, flat and fair… _Christ_ , he’s going to sink the whole deal…”

“ _Tierney, will you shut up_?” Matthews’s eyes flashed with worry.

“I can go maybe 50…” Merriman countered.

“And my mate and I here can go South towards Portsmouth, or inland towards Richmond,” Thomas dropped a cool wink. “Not to put too fine a point on it, sir, I’m the only one carrying what many seek to buy…”

Merriman scowled, cast his eyes to the street. “I could step out that door and rouse me a constable, have you in irons before you can spit…”

“You could do that, certainly,” Thomas hooked a thumb through his belt, “and you’d wear a matched set.” He side-eyed the racks of linen and lace, the spools of silk thread and the barrels of tea, coffee and spice. “I daresay ain’t much of your inventory gathered this side of the Atlantic.” He leaned closer to the older fellow, dropped his voice a bit. “And I daresay your neighbors won’t take very kindly to the notion that I ain’t the first pirate you’ve beckoned this way…”

A slow growing flush colored Merriman’s cheeks, and Tierney held her breath as she watched the two men stare each other down. Finally, the merchant dropped his gaze to the samples once more, his tone soft but snide as he questioned Thomas’ asking price for the wool.

“Well, there you go, girl,” Matthews sniffed at the sight of pirate and proprietor sharing a handshake as few long moments later. “Are ye satisfied now? He’s offed the whole lot, and for more than we’d have even dreamed of asking.”

“You sound mighty proud there, Matthews,” she sulked. “I’d never have taken you for a brigand at heart.”

“Don’t you be throwin’ that at me, there, missy,” the man puffed his chest, looking at her down his nose. “You forget we be chasin’ what’s holding your heart. You’ve a problem with that, you’re the one needs to cut bait.”

“Don’t remind me,” Tierney grumbled, straightening her back and craning her neck to check the path to the door. “Coast clear ahead…”

“Aye,” a gruff voice from behind turned them both on their heels. “Storm’s coming in from the stern,” Thomas towered over them both, his arms crossed over his chest. “Best batten down.”

Matthews muttered a curse under his breath, reflexively stepping between the captain and Tierney. “Captain Hiddleston, sir, beggin’ your leave…”

“Oh, no, sir,” the younger man tutted, shaking his head, lightning flashing in his blue eyes as he nudged himself toe to toe with the lass, curling his lip at the stubborn cant of her chin. “I’m smart enough to know this little adventure weren’t your idea.”

“But Cap’n…”

“Mr. Matthews,” Thomas murmured, silky warning in his tone, “there’s a big, bustling town just beyond those doors, full of food and drink and soft, fair company. I suggest you go and enjoy it.” He plucked the tricorn hat from Tierney’s head, watching the thick coil of her braid tumble down her back before thrusting the felt into her hands. “Leave this insolent little spitfire to me.”

“Go, Key, it’s all right,” Tierney urged, flipping a stray crimson lock from her brow with a toss of her head, her gaze never breaking from Thomas’ icy glare. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Matthews cut his eyes first to one, then the other, pawing his kerchief from his back pocket and swiping it briskly over the back of his neck. He shuffled away, casting a mildly worried glance over his shoulder before pushing politely past a pair of shoppers mingling at the door. In his wake, Tierney stood her ground beneath Thomas’ withering stare, the corner of her jaw ticking ever so slightly when he reached for her hand, squeezing her fingers roughly before tucking them into the crook of his elbow.

“Shall we?” He intoned darkly, sweeping a hand towards the exit.

The pair slipped easily out of the mercantile to stroll coolly down the street; Tierney let her eyes scan the passing crowds with detached curiosity.

“If you’re waiting for an apology…”

“Actually, little redwing,” Thomas nodded courteously at a passerby, “the longer you hold that sharp little tongue of yours, the happier we’ll both be, I’m sure.”

She fixed her sight on a nearby colonist, watching as he saddled a broad-chested gelding, smiling tightly when he tipped his hat to her before mounting up.

“You know, you acted as if my presence here would set off some manner of riot. And yet…” she splayed the fingers of her free hand towards the peaceful activity that buzzed around them.

“And you behaved as if your absence would make the deal plum fall through,” Thomas hefted the purse at his hip with a grin, delighting in the way the clinking of the coins within set Tierney’s teeth on edge. “And yet…”

“You know, you wouldn’t have had to haggle so hard had you brought me along proper,” she snapped.

“That weren’t no hard haggle,” Thomas laughed. “And besides, where’s the fun in the barter if a man can’t flap his gums a bit?”

“It ain’t just flappin’ your gums if you got wisdom behind your words,” Tierney sassed, yanking her hand free from his arm and whirling on him in the street.

“Tierney,” his chuckle died in his throat, “settle yourself, girl…”

“ _You_ didn’t have the who’s and how’s back there, but _I_ did!”

“Tierney…” Thomas stole a brief glance around the square, “mind your fucking tone…”

“ _You_ didn’t have the information would back your ridiculous asking price, but _I_ did!”

“ _Tierney_ …” the word a deadly hiss between his teeth, “ _keep your voice down!”_

“Ye walked away an extortionist as well as a pirate,” she pressed on, undaunted, spitefully satisfied at the way he fell back a step, then another. “Swaggerin’ about, so bleedin’ pleased with yourself. Yet it ain’t once occurred to you that havin’ me in might’ve _legitimized_ your offer a bit, helped you look like you maybe knew a thing or two about the goods you were schillin’, hell, might could’ve UPPED that haul you’re totin’ so proud…”

“Tierney…” Thomas’ one hand grabbed her elbow as the other fell to his belt, his fingers groping along the thick leather.

“You listen to me, Thomas William Hiddleston,” she poked a rough fingertip into his chest, “you may think you know everything about piratin’ but _I_ know more’n a few things about this world myself, please and thank you, and if you think I’m too stupid to understand… _Thomas!_ ”

Her tirade dissolved into a gulp of shock when his grip on her tightened with murderous force, hauling her close before shoving her around the corner of the brick and mortar building beside them. Before she could gather breath to protest, Thomas had backed them both against its rear edifice, one arm deathly tight around her waist, the fist of the other holding the razor-honed blade of his dagger a hair’s breadth from the pulse now hammering in her throat.

“ _Shut your fucking mouth, girl_ ,” his whisper a terrifying breeze in her ear. “ _Not another goddamn word…_ ”

“T-T-Thomas,” she stammered, her fingers digging into the tensed muscle of his forearm. “P-p-p-please… I’m sorry…”

“ _TIERNEY_ ,” the word edged in desperation, “for the love of CHRIST, _shut up_!”

She could feel his breath tearing in and out of his chest like a bellows, his beard scraping her cheek as he craned his neck towards the street.

And then, very nearly too late, she saw them.

Three. Broad-shouldered with well-muscled arms in coats of rebel blue, necks as thick as chimney stacks and hands the size of prize market hams. The tasseled finery that decorated the handles of their swords did nothing to diminish the threat of the well-sharpened steel below, and the light of the afternoon sun winked as merrily off the silver barrels and muzzles of the muskets they carried as it did off each of their polished brass buttons.

“ _Oh_ …” she pressed herself back against the pirate, her arms curling around his. “Oh, Jesus… please…”

The trio paused at the mouth of the alley, their burly chuckles echoing as one popped a match alight with his thumbnail. He dipped the flame into the bowl of a handsome wooden pipe, and Tierney held her breath as the tobacco caught, as plumes of grey smoke tickled their way into the air. The illegible drone of their conversation rose and fell before they resumed their stride, dusty gravel crunching agreeably under their soles. The smoker’s wrist flicked in an elegant arc, and the snuffed wooden stick landed just beyond the toes of Tierney’s boots, one tiny red ember winking up at her from the ground.

Only once the soldiers were well out of sight did her strength fail her, and she sagged with a choked sob of guarded relief into Thomas’ embrace. He kept her in a hostage hold as he pushed up from the wall; her feet dragged in the dust as he walked her in front of him, his grip relaxing only when he could see for himself that the danger, at least for the moment, had passed.

“You didn’t understand before,” he rasped into the sweat-dampened hair at her temple, “but you’re getting the point now aren’t you, ye brazen little brat?”

Tierney forced her legs to bear her weight, turning unsteadily to face the pale and shaken pirate now sheathing his knife with a slightly unsteady hand.

“I’ve known a long time,” Thomas raked his fingers through his own tousled curls, “from the day I stripped bonny Jack from my mast, that I was takin’ a risk. Knew what I could lose in the wake of the choice I was making - my frigate, my family, my freedom… my very life, should worst come to worst. And it’s always a chance I’ve been willing to take to sail free and give to those who’d work fair the due they’ve got coming.”

He closed the small distance between them in a flash, his hands gripping her neck in an iron hold, and Tierney felt the burn of salt flood her eyes as she stared, stricken and silent, up into his.

“But I _will not_ risk you, my pretty little redwing. Not for silver nor gold, not for any damn thing under the sun.” He crushed his mouth to hers, stealing the air from her lungs and leaving her trembling when he released her too soon.

“T-Thomas,” she mewled, burying her face in his chest. She clutched desperately at the cotton of his shirt, all but certain he would let her crumple to a heap in the dust at his feet. “I… I… I… I’m so sorry.”

Thomas stood rigid for a moment before softening his posture, winding his arms around her and holding her close. He rocked her gently, side to side, stroking a finger along her cheek when she turned her face up to his once more.

“So am I, little redwing,” he sighed into her hair. “So am I. Come along,” he nudged her back on her heels, sweeping an arm to the street they’d retreated from. “The sooner we start, the sooner it’s done.”

“Start?” Tierney’s brow creased as she watched him head that direction. “Start what?”

A mist of quiet regret clouded his eyes, but the line of his back and the clench of his jaw were set, his voice was low and resolute.

“Am I not your captain, Tierney?”

An icy shiver skittered up her spine. “Y-you… you are…”

“And was my command in any way unclear?”

She could feel the bile burning its way to the back of her mouth; she swallowed it down and took a resolute breath.

“No. It was not.” She watched the weight of her reply settle about his shoulders, gave her head a brusque little shake. “You… you can’t be thinking…”

“You disobeyed my orders, Tierney,” Thomas lifted his chin a notch. “A thing I’ll not abide. Now,” he gestured to the town around them getting ready to tuck in for the evening, “you’re welcome to seek safe harbor here. Stay a spell, enjoy the new world, or you can find yourself other passage home. But,” he took a step back closer to her, “if you plan on setting one foot on my _Bronwyn_ again…”

The earth seemed to tilt a little beneath her boots as the unspoken resolution drifted on the air between them, making it thick and warm and difficult to breathe. Tierney’s eyes flashed fire at the quiet, unyielding authority in his stare, and for a long, quiet moment, she considered stepping forward to challenge his resolve.

_I’d stow that sass if I was you, wee one. You raised your sheets… time for you to brave the winds…_

Red’s voice in her head; she could almost feel the wiry-soft prickle of his beard against her temple. Huffing an angry exhale over her teeth, she gave her head a toss, feeling her braid whip smartly about her waist.

“As you will… _Captain…_ ”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deal is sealed, the day is done, the soldiers none the wiser. But nothing sinks a ship faster than unchecked insubordination. A pirate's life for Tierney? Only if she can stand a pirate's discipline from Captain Thomas' firm, commanding hand. Batten down, merry mates, the winds are strong tonight...
> 
> (Trigger warning for discipline by whip)

The sinking sun set the ocean ablaze as the pair made their way back down to the docks, Thomas tipping a spry salute to the harbormaster as they passed. He followed Tierney to the boat she’d commandeered, narrowing his eyes sternly at her as she rolled her own at him, sullen and silent. He stepped down into the skiff himself before catching her about the waist, lifting her easily in to join him. They lingered that way, his hands on her hips, hers at his elbows; for the briefest moment, Tierney was sure he’d pull her closer, slide his palms to the small of her back, warm the icy chill in her stomach with a sweet, smoldering kiss. Tilting her face up to his, she parted her lips in invitation, let her lashes flutter in girlish consent.

Thomas’ teeth flashed white beneath his moustache as he exhaled a wry chuckle, shaking his head and nudging her to sit on the board at the bow. She scowled at him from her perch as he sank to the bench and took up the oars, then turned to glare out at the open water so sharply her braid whipped clean from one shoulder to the other.

The row back to the _Bronwyn_ was cool and quiet, the only sounds the muttering splashes of waves against the wood and the occasional whisper of the breeze dancing over the sea. Tierney moved automatically to take up the lantern once the ship was in sight, her fingers strong and sure as she scratched a match to light the wick. She raised the lamp in greeting, its warmth caressing her cheek as the acknowledging cry of the boatswain’s whistle sang out loud and clear. The ladder she’d dropped only hours before still dangled over the side; Thomas eased the launch between the fall lines and allowed her to help him tether it tight before shooing her up with a wave of his hand. She climbed slowly, watching over her shoulder as he snuffed the flame and secured the sculls, until Guillermo’s callused hands caught her upper arms and gave a firm, friendly tug.

“ _Vamos, cosa bastante, y con vosotros…_ ”

She smiled wearily at the little Spaniard, allowed him to help her find her footing on the deck. He dropped an adorable bow before turning back to the rail, offering the captain a hand as well. Thomas accepted, his long legs hurdling the side with almost absurd grace.

“Thanks, Guy,” he clapped the man on the back. “Good news to bear – tell me our haul is ready for load.”

“ _Oh, sí, señor capitán Thomas_ ,” Guillermo grinned broadly, ushering the commander toward the cargo bay. “The buy was good, yeah?”

“Most profitable, _hermano_ ,” Thomas gave his purse a brisk jiggle. “More where this came from, just as soon as Merriman’s men secure the lot. Tomorrow, dusk. With his boats and ours… three trips, maybe four…”

Tierney was about to follow behind them when the captain’s voice drifted back, his words light, his tone anything but.

“Tierney, I’ll meet you below.”

If the deckhand sensed any tension, he gave no sign; Tierney waited for the men to head down to the hold before turning on her heel, taking the stern steps down to avoid encountering any of the other lingering crew. She moved through the anteroom and into their cabin, lighting the lamps before crossing to the window table and uncorking the crystal decanter. She downed a swig from the bottle direct, passing the back of her hand over her lips as the dark liquor burned its way to her stomach.

_Steady on, girl. You’ve taken a lick or two in your life, and you’ve got the blood of Seamus McCrae in your veins. Head up, lips shut, this too shall pass._

She paced the floor in front of the bed, lost in her thoughts until the cabin door closed with a heavy thud, making her jump and sending a flock of goosebumps skittering over her skin. She swallowed the lump in her throat as Thomas’ footsteps approached, slow, measured, his shadow on the floor growing as he closed the distance between them. She bit her lip, lifting her chin a notch as he stopped beside her, his broad chest brushing her shoulder as he looked down at her. Silence stretched out between them until it was nearly a palpable itch beneath her skin, but she kept her eyes fixed on the wall above the headboard until, with a sigh, Thomas broke it at last.

“Am I not your captain, Tierney?” he queried, his voice low, silky smooth.

 _All business, I see_ , Tierney turned her eyes up to his, gauging the tempest behind his brow by the lightning flashing in their cerulean depths. Her pulse throbbed briefly in the center of her skull; she drew in a deep breath, let it go in an unhurried exhale.

“You are, Thomas. Sir.”

His gaze narrowed a bit. “Did I not give you a command?”

She pursed her lips around her rebel tongue. “You did, sir.”

“What was it?” His mouth quirked at the corners when her teeth scraped against one another, her jaw clenching tight.

“You commanded me to stay aboard the ship,” she spoke cool and clipped, glowering when he stared at her in expectant silence. “ _Sir_ ,” she sneered at last.

“And did you obey that command?” His head tilted on his neck, and it was only with mighty effort that Tierney resisted the urge to bend him double with a fist to his gut. She took another steadying breath, then squared her posture in resolve.

“No, sir, I did not.”

Thomas held her gaze a few stoic seconds, then shifted his weight, his hands emerging from where he’d held them behind his back. From the left dangled four thin yards of tightly woven hemp; his right held a cat o’nine tails, its braids coiled neatly around the handle.

“Arms and legs, little redwing,” he murmured huskily, “quickly now.”

Tierney’s wide eyes darted to the bedframe, blinked once, then twice before returning to the drawn lines of his face.

“Y-you… you mean to do this here?”

He dropped an unconcerned shrug. “If ceremony and spectacle is what you desire, Tierney, we can head up portside and I’ll willingly oblige.”

She was shaking her head before she realized. “No! But I… I just thought…”

Thomas’ features softened the slightest hint around the edges. “I gave the order outside the company of the crew. You disobeyed me outside the company of the crew. I’ve no issue meting out your punishment outside the company of the crew.” His irises twinkled with a brief, merry light. “Unless, as I said, your guilty conscience judges you unworthy of such a kindness…”

“My guilty conscience,” Tierney snorted briefly, her hands darting out with cheeky flourish so she could wrap her fingers around the bedposts, her legs spreading wide and her boots planting firmly to the floor. “Let’s get on with it then.”

She kept her eyes open and clear as Thomas took another step forward, huffing a small but indifferent sniff as he uncoiled the tails of the flogger, draping it across the mattress in front of her. His quiet chortle caressed its way down her spine as he wound one tether around her left wrist, securing it snugly to the bedframe before kneeling to bind her left ankle in similar fashion. She could feel the heat of his body as he passed behind her, gliding smoothly to restrain her right side as well. Once she was trussed and unable to move, he returned to his side of the berth, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the whip. She inhaled sharply at the rustle of the leather cords as he shook them out in demonstration, raising her nose a bold little hitch. Finally, he paused, catching the heavy helix of her braid and slowly, deliberately, draping it over her shoulder.

“Do you need a moment?” His tone, still full of undeniable authority, licked gently at her earlobe, and she tossed her head, shooting him a steely glare.

“I most certainly do not, please and thank you,” she snipped before facing the wall once more. “You go right ahead and do your worst.”

“Oh, pretty Tierney…” He took a step back, and her building ire escaped her in a harsh gasp as his hands caught her collar with an efficient tug, his grip tearing the cotton of her shirt to the hem with laughable ease and putting the smooth, shapely landscape of her back on display. “Don’t think I won’t.” The boards beneath his boots creaked and groaned as he shifted his stance.

“An even twenty, little spitfire. Keep the count.”

The whisper of the threads cutting the air gave her a heartbeat to prepare, and the initial blow across the blade of one shoulder was as much shock as sting. Yet Tierney still dug her teeth into her bottom lip, biting back the responding cry that boiled in her throat until she could shape the word even and strong.

“One.”

The second landed lower, trailing across the center of her spine, the tips of each tail snapping smartly around the cage of her ribs.

“Two!”

The third was lower still, the biting burn absorbed by the fleshy curve of one hip peeking out from the waist of her trousers.

“Th-three…” She drew in air as he lifted his arm once more, squeezing her eyes closed against the pinprick of tears and digging her nails into the wood of the bedpost. Lash number four striped heavier on the left, five balanced the pain when it struck on the right. Higher, then lower, left, right, and center; she’d just managed to spit a venomous “ten” when Thomas lowered the whip and crossed to the table.

She could hear the cork leaving the neck of the flagon, the sound of the water sloshing as he took a deep draught. She allowed herself a moment of rapid panting, expelling the sobs that threatened to burst from her chest in small, soundless puffs. The cool evening air bit at her abraded skin, almost as sharp as the cat itself, and her tears slid soundlessly down her cheeks when she opened her eyes, raining down to darken the fabric of her ruined shirt. She lifted her head with a sniffle, shook it a bit to cast off the stray strands of hair that had fallen across her forehead. The flask appeared in front of her, and Thomas sloshed its contents in invitation.

“Well begun and halfway done,” he said, his voice just shallow of praise. “Drink?”

Tierney turned her dark, wet eyes to his. “Would you offer any other man?”

His satisfied smirk enflamed and infuriated her in equal measure. “Not a drop.”

“Then put the fucking thing away.”

His right eyebrow cocked briefly, and he took another long swallow as he swaggered back to the table. Tierney took a moment to twist her wrists in their bonds, sniffling once more and squaring her frame, despite the sting it sent radiating from each welt and weal.

Thomas took up the lash and resumed his pace as before, taking his time, landing each stroke crisp and clean over the terrain of her back. Each strike found purchase in a different spot, but it mattered little; the prickling, sizzling pain had settled into her skin, making every blow seem to land everywhere at once. She continued to stammer out the count, until the stubborn shape of the number sixteen hiccupped in her throat.

“I’m waiting, little redwing,” easy, encouraging. “Or do we need to go back to the beginning?”

“Sixteen!” She forced the word from her mouth in a harsh, barking cough, turning her face to the ceiling as tears once again slid from the corners of her eyes. “Goddamn it, Thomas!”

“We’re nearly there…”

“Oh, _fuck_ your ‘we’, _we_ aren’t doing anything… _OW!”_

Even through her breeches, the tails of the cat sent a vicious, scorching bite cutting across the swells of her buttocks.

“Tierney,” the word was heavy with warning, “you forget your place once more, and you can hang here trussed while I send for Gus to finish the job.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “He may be fond of you, my dear, but he’s damn friendly with Frosty, too – didn’t stop him from stripping flesh near to the bone when the lad tried to make off with a barrel of our finest Jamaican lady last time we anchored home.”

Swallowing down a screech of fury, Tierney turned her head on her neck, shooting daggers at the captain through slitted lids. “ _Sixteen_ ,” she repeated in a hiss.

“Oh, girl,” Thomas purred, his eyes swirling with dark amusement, “perhaps you are a pirate after all.”

He struck her again, and again, until the count was complete and her held breath left her in a shuddering gust. Her body was quaking from head to toe and she took a moment of slack, letting the ropes around her wrists do the work of holding her upright. The flogger clattered against the tabletop, and when Thomas appeared again at her side, she accepted his offer of water with a quiet nod, swallowing in trembling gulps and shivering at the drops that tickled their way down her neck. She’d just closed her eyes and filled her lungs with fresh air when his fingertips danced over her back, making her yelp in pained surprise.

“Shhhh, little redwing,” he soothed, his lips a gentle caress at the top of her spine. “You did well. But do us both a favor, eh? In the future, remember that I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. You can speak your piece, same as any man on this crew. I’ll give ye a listen, same as I would any of them.” His whiskers brushed against her neck as he leaned closer to speak directly into her ear. “But mark me well, Tierney. This ship is mine, and as long as you’re on it, my word is law.” She bit back a sullen whimper as the grain of his shirt dusted against her reddened flesh. “Defy it again, and it will be my pleasure to decorate you once more.”

The proud and gentle timbre of his voice should have settled soothingly in her gut. But a surge of lingering, smarting pride bubbled up inside her throat as he reached above her, twisting at the knot that held one arm in place. His groin brushed the still-throbbing curve of her ass, and feeling his warm and rigid erection pressed sung against her was all she needed to send it spilling from her lips.

“I doubt it not, Captain,” she jeered lightly, meeting his gaze over her shoulder before craning her neck to glance down at his crotch. “You grind against all the lads after a flogging like that? Or do ye just hurry yourself down here to be alone with your hand?”

Thomas’ eyes flew wide, the tranquil blue all but swallowed by spreading, stormy pools of midnight pitch as his jaw sagged in unmistakable shock. “Brazen little brat,” he snarled, curling his fingers at her scalp and yanking her head back on her neck. “I’d forgotten that, from time to time, you need your lessons knocked into you more’n once.”

Tierney managed a wicked smile, despite the eye-watering discomfort of his hand in her hair. “Then take up the cat again, Cap’n, you’ll find I can count much higher than twenty.”

“Oh, little redwing,” his other hand caressed her hip, sliding under the tatters of her tunic, over her stomach and down to the waist of her trousers. “I don’t need a whip to set you straight on this point. After all,” his chin hooked over her shoulder, his body pressing against hers as his fingertips dipped below the fabric, delving down between her legs, “I ain’t alone with my hand now, am I?”

Tierney whipped her head to the side, her lips brushing his cheek as she braced her posture within her restraints. “You can feel your way along parts south all you like, Cap’n, drop your anchor if it suits you,” she quipped, elated when her words emerged steady and sure. “You may command this ship and the souls aboard it, you can demand a civil tone as you like. And I’ll pay the price in pain when my tongue runs away, but _no one_ commands this body but me.”

“Is that so, pretty bird?” He growled, rolling the iron rod of his cock into the cleft between her buttocks as his fingers slid lower, seeking the moist heat hidden beneath the triangle of silky, crimson curls. “Seems to me,” the tip of his tongue flickered against the shell of her ear as he nudged his touch between her plump, slick folds, “warm southern tides are rising whether you’d like them to or not…”

Tierney swallowed the moan cresting in her throat, gripping the smooth wooden posts of the bed with murderous determination. “It ain’t what _you_ feel that counts now, is it, Thomas Hiddleston?”

“I don’t know, Tierney,” his controlled rasp blew through the soft little hairs at the base of her skull as the tip of one finger teased its way along the tensed and drawn entrance to her cunt. “Are you really going to tell me this doesn’t feel good?”

She clenched her teeth, turning her face away from his with a determined snort. “I will. Because it doesn’t.”

“Oh, sweet little redwing,” he chuckled, using his hand to push her back against him as his fingertip pressed slowly up inside her. “Would you demand that I stop?”

“I don’t care what you do, Thomas,” she gritted harshly, squeezing her eyes shut and focusing on the angry hum of her punished skin as she tried to numb every cell his touch sparked to life. “One way or the other.”

He nibbled at the sensitive spot beneath her ear, the heel of his hand rubbing teasingly against her swelling clit as the other descended to fumble with the laces of his trousers. “Mmm, your nimble little tongue is as cold and sharp as ever,” he grunted softly in relief as the knot gave way, allowing his cock to spring free from his fly. “But your body doesn’t lie, sweet. You’re warm, and getting warmer. You’re wet, soon to be dripping.” His hand darted back to her scalp, wrenched her face back to his, and she could taste the lust on his breath as his lips brushed hers. “Your back is raw and your pride is chapped, but neither of those aches can compare to the one burning inside you, eh? That throbbing emptiness that just begs to be filled?”

“No,” Tierney snarled, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Yes… I…I mean…”

“Tell me to stop,” his grip between her legs gave a brisk upward tug, making her gasp and shudder and blink in surprise. “Tell me to stop and I’ll take you down, tuck you in bed, penance paid and a clean slate for tomorrow.”

“I told you,” she spat like an angry kitten, “I _don’t care_ what you do!”

“Oh, Tierney,” he chuckled before crushing his lips to hers in a brutal, bruising kiss, “my lovely little liar.”

She sagged in her bonds as he abruptly released her, her fingers scrabbling reflexively at the bedposts for purchase. His shadow danced briefly on the wall to the musical rustle of his clothes falling to the floor, and then he fisted her breeches at the small of her back. With one strong and simple yank, he split the seams; before she could open her mouth to plead or protest, he’d stepped between her spread legs and filled her with one swift, savage roll of his hips.

“Christ… Thomas…” she keened, throwing her head back and rising up on her toes.

“There’s a girl,” his voice rumbled wicked praise from deep within his chest. “Yield to me now.”

“Thomas,” she moaned, dismayed by how quickly the pleasure swelling inside her overwhelmed the pain, soothing even the singes and cracks of her battered vanity. “My God…”

“You hush now, little redwing,” he growled rocking into her again, and once more. “You said it made no difference to you, so give your captain what he wants… ohhh… Tierney....” His palms spanned her waist beneath the remains of her shirt, slid up to cup her breasts as he mouthed his way along her shoulder. Before long, his skin was glistening with excitement and exertion, and Tierney whined softly as the friction of his chest against her back rubbed the salt of his sweat into the stripes the cat had left behind.

Over and over he plunged, plundered, driving himself inside her at a pace that left her breathless, the air forced from her lungs before she’d had a fair chance to fill them at all. The tethers at her wrists and ankles kept her stretched and spread, unable to twist into his touch or angle her body to her own enjoyment, and she found herself wild with desperation when his rhythm slowed, stuttered, signaling his approaching climax while hers was nowhere in sight.

“Thomas,” she sobbed, turning her head with mighty effort. “Please…”

His eyes were sleepy with near-satisfied desire when he lifted his face from the hollow of her neck. “Please what, little redwing?” He cocked a rakish brow. “What would you have?”

“P-please…”

His chiseled features hardened and he pulled her roughly back against him. “Sass and sarcasm left you dry?” he gruffed. “Stop mewling at me, little spitfire. Give me an answer or shut your mouth. What would you have?”

All thoughts of sweet surrender vanished from her mind in a volcanic flash of fury. “I would have the same satisfaction you would take from me… _Sir.”_

“Is that so?” Thomas grinned, thrusting hard as his fingers danced over her nipples. “Don’t see how that’s my problem,” he nipped at her earlobe. “After all, this body is yours to command, isn’t it? Make your own satisfaction if you want it so bad.”

Tierney jerked away from him, teeth bared in a snarl. “Untie me,” she seethed, “and I will.”

“Hmmm,” Thomas teased, sliding his hands leisurely over her form. “I think not, little bird. I rather like you like this… very satisfying indeed.”

“Well, you enjoy it while it lasts, you arrogant arse,” she fumed, full of venom. “I daresay you’ll not have me like this again.”

“Well, then,” he chortled, pausing to groan in delight as he sheathed himself fully once more, “by your leave…”

Thrust and retreat, thrust and retreat, and Tierney struggled in earnest against the ties that held her fast, canting her body as best she could until her heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest, every muscle alive and angry with a vicious, gnawing hunger. Thomas’ grip settled firmly on her hips and the pressure within her suddenly shifted, the thick ridge that ran the underside of his cock grinding smooth and sure against that secret spot inside her, the one that swelled and throbbed and sent white-hot bolts of lightning surging through her veins.

“Thomas,” she gasped, unable to wring the ecstasy from her tone.

“There’s what you want, eh, feisty girl? What you need, what you’d beg for, if not for that idiotic mick pride of yours.”

“Goddammit, Thomas…”

His body pressed tight against hers once more, and her eyes rolled back in her head as his hand slipped down between her legs.

“Yield to me, Tierney… give me the helm…”

“No!” She bucked wildly in his embrace, even as her body betrayed her. “I will not!”

“You said you trusted me, Tierney,” he suckled sweetly on her earlobe as his fingers circled her clit. “Trust me now.”

“No!”

“Sassy, stubborn brat,” he hummed in her ear, his hips hammering into her with brutal efficiency. “It’s not a defeat if we both get what we want.”

“I… I…” She shook her head wildly, tears leaking from her eyes.

“You know what to do, little redwing,” his other hand caught her chin, brought her mouth back to his. “Trust me, Tierney. Trust your captain.”

“Thomas,” she whimpered, the drag of her climax catching her, pulling her under at the urging of his hand and his hard, driving cock.

“Aye, love. I’ve got you. Just let go… just yield…”

The world swirled in prisms of crashing color as his tongue filled her mouth, as the thrust of his body forced her under the waves, plunging her deeper and deeper before launching her to break surface once more, gasping and gulping and moaning his name.

“Thomas…”

His brow was soaked and slippery as it came to rest at the base of her skull, the bellows of his breath soothing the pinpricks of pain still blossoming in her skin.

“Tierney,” weak, watery, adrift on unfamiliar tide. “I love you…”

Her eyes were wide and her jaw was slack as she dangled in her bonds, her frame supporting his as he softened, slipped from her, their perspiration pattering softly to the floor as the tide of their pleasure ebbed slowly to wet the flesh inside her still spread thighs. Slowly, clumsily at first, his fingers scuttled along her limbs to tug free her tethers, and she slumped into his embrace, her arms and legs shaking. He lifted her with ease, carrying her around the corner of the bed and laying her carefully on her side. She fixed her eyes on the shimmering oil in the belly of the bedside lamp, watched the reflection of the flame dancing above as he eased her boots from her feet, her tattered clothes from her limbs. Curling around her pillow, she tucked her thumbnail between her teeth and chewed thoughtfully until the cold, comforting prickle of a damp cloth against her punished skin made her whimper in her throat.

“Shhhh,” Thomas soothed his lips over each weal and welt, the soft tickle of his whiskers making her squirm and sigh, “my brave little bird.” From her neck to her shoulders and down to her waist, he cleaned every lash until the biting burn had faded to a dull, throbbing ache. Then, after catching her chin in his hand and turning her face to his for one long, last kiss, he reached for the lamp himself. Dousing the wick, he pulled her against him, yawning a bleary “sweet dreams” into her hair.

She’d no real grasp of how unsettled she felt until a hearty baritone snore rumbled against her, sending a shiver down the curve of her spine. She wriggled in irritation, her elbow catching his stomach just below the ribs a bit harder than she’d intended. Thomas grunted, surprised, and she squeaked as his palm cracked her backside in a reflexive swat.

“Bleedin’ Christ, Tierney… what was that for?”

“You’re croaking grand opera in my ear, you old bullfrog,” she scowled, muttering under her breath as he rolled over, tugging her along with him until she was pillowed on his chest.

“A thousand pardons, m’lady,” he drolled, pulling the linens up over them both. She lay quiet a moment, her fingers twirling absently through the dusting of hair between his nipples until his large palm squeezed them still. “For fuck’s sake, girl, what the hell is the matter?”

“Ain’t nothin’ the matter with me,” Tierney snapped with aplomb. “You’re the one laying here with something jiggled loose ‘tween your ears.”

“Tierney,” worn, weary, “what the hell are you on about?”

“How can you say that,” she sat up with a huff, strands of fiery hair falling loose from her braid to feather along her cheeks, “that thing that you said? And how can you lay there, half dead to the world, knowin’ I ain’t said a damn thing in reply?”

“What thing?” Thomas yawned, reaching up to twist a stray lock around one finger. “That I love you?” He laughed at the scowl that furrowed her features. “Like that ain’t a thing you didn’t already know.”

“Didn’t already…” Tierney slapped his hand away, her teeth grinding like millstones at the sound of his chuckle. “How would I know a thing such as that?”

“Well, girl, again, I am beggin’ your pardon,” Thomas sat up himself, smoothed a thumb over the crease of her brow. “Pretty Tierney,” he nuzzled his lips against hers, his eyes never closing as he teased her with soft, tiny whispers of kisses. “If you didn’t know it before, know it now. I love you.”

A sudden, sweet wave lurched to and fro in her stomach, but Tierney resisted its pull, refusing to ride the crest further into his arms. “I ain’t sayin’ it back,” she blurted, biting her lip, her fingers worrying the sheet clasped between her breasts.

Thomas threw his head back, rich laughter enveloping her in a warmth as confusing as it was comforting. “Fiery little redwing,” he caressed her cheek once more, “I fell in love with you when you wouldn’t utter a word.” He bumped his forehead playfully against hers. “I don’t expect your silence will change much of anything now.” With a rakish wink, he fell back into the mattress, patting the muscle above his heart. “Come on now, sassy brat. Full day tomorrow and we rise with the sun. Best get your rest while the gettin’s still good.” She stared in disbelief as he slung his arm across her pillow, closing his eyes with a satisfied sigh.

 _Arrogant arsehole,_ she sulked in the dim. _I ain’t sayin’ it back!_

As she had those first early nights, Tierney waited and watched until she believed he was soundly asleep before lying down, quietly anchoring herself into the welcoming port of his body. She hissed against his chest as his arm closed around her, rubbing against her abraded back as he pulled her in close.

“Sorry,” he muttered thick into her hair, his lips pursing briefly in an afterthought kiss atop her head.

Her mouth curled briefly in a small, reflexive smile before she could stop it. “S’all right, Thomas,” she muttered aloud before closing her eyes to repeat to herself.

_I ain’t sayin’ it back… ain’t no way in Hell I’m sayin it back._


End file.
